


The Dragon and the Griffon

by kscho



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alistair in Skyrim, Angst, Dragons, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Eventual relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Have you seen my other fic?, Maybe happy ending?, More Fluff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Skyrim Main Quest, Probs not lol, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Thieves Guild, he's my husband, i love Brynjolf yall, i love Honeyside, pre-Mercer betrayal at first, smol dragonborn, yeesh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-01-23 08:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscho/pseuds/kscho
Summary: Alistair Theirin is dead.At least that's what his world thinks.To Malia, an established thief, he is very much alive.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Dovahkiin, Alistair/Female Dragonborn
Comments: 15
Kudos: 67





	1. Birch Trees in Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malia and Brynjolf encounter a group of bandits trying to rob a strange, unconscious man neither of them have ever seen the likes of

"When was the last time you were actually outside?" Malia asked as she skipped a stone across the calm waters of Lake Honrich. "And going out on a job doesn't count," she quickly added, turning back to point at Brynjolf as he waded into the water.

"Couldn't tell you," he admitted with that lopsided grin she loved to see.

Malia loved mornings like this one. When the mist still clung to the surface of the lake and everything was quiet. Torchbugs still floated about, blinking lazily before the sun came up. The water was still clinging to the warm summer days, so it was pleasant enough to stand in, but not nice enough to swim in. Autumn was beginning to set in, turning the trees into beautiful shade of orange, yellow, and red. Goldenglow Estate could be seen an arrow's flight away, torches still lit, but all the windows were still dark. She knew Mercer was planning something big with the honey farm, but nobody really knew what yet.

"I heard your job in Windhelm went well," Brynjolf said, skipping a rock as well.

"It's already cold as all hell in the city," Malia complained. "I shouldn't be surprised, but it's only Hearthfire, and it was snowing almost the whole time I was there."

"I thought you loved the cold, lass?"

"I do!" she argued. "But I don't like the early cold. I don't expect snows until maybe mid-Frost Fall. Maybe even early Sun's Dusk." She laughed. "Don't act like you're some hardened Nord that was born in the snow, Bryn. You _hate_ the cold!" Her redheaded friend chuckled and gave her a knowing nod. He brushed his bangs away from his face and bent over to splash her lightly. Malia yelped and retaliated with a bigger splash.

"Watch the hair!" Brynjolf protested.

"Oh, the hair!" Malia taunted, giggling. She jumped away as his hand reached out suddenly to grab her, splashing water everywhere. "You're such a butterfly!" She continued to laugh as he chased her in the shallow water. Just as his arms came around her and he hauled her up in the air, she heard the telltale ring of swords, making her freeze. "Bryn, stop!" she snapped. He immediately set her down, looking concerned as if he had hurt her. "No, Bryn...listen..." They both stood as still as the morning lake as they craned their heads.

Off in the distance, Malia heard shouting and more swords. She lurched back toward shore where her socks, boots, and swords were sitting beneath a tall birch tree. Brynjolf followed her. She tossed her socks aside, shoving her boots on and snatching up her swords. She didn't even wait for Brynjolf as she took off running in the direction of the noise. She sprinted past the stables and across the road, noting that the two guards that normally stood at the gates were absent.

"In the name of the Jarl of Riften, I order you to lay down your weapons and come with us!"

There were five bandits, all of them dressed in mismatched armor and wielding a wide array of weapons. Three city guards stood a stone's throw away from them, swords and shields up and at the ready.

"Fat chance of that, you pompous prick!" the leader shouted back with a bark of a laugh, hefting his battleaxe on his shoulder. Malia scowled at the way he stood, the way most bandits stood and carried themselves, like they thought they were the hottest shit to have graced Tamriel.

"I won't ask again!" the guard snapped. "Step away from the man!"

_Man?_ Malia looked past the leader, spotting who the guard was referring to. There was indeed a man among the bandits, lying on his back, unconscious. "Best listen to him!" she called, smirking. "You can still leave with your lives, if not your dignity."

The city guard closest to her gave her a nod of his head. "Nice of you to join us, Thane," he said with false cheer. He looked just past her as Brynjolf finally joined them. "I see you brought a friend."

"It was either him or a slaughterfish," she joked.

"What is this, a social call?" another bandit shot at them.

The two thieves looked at each other and shrugged. "Might as well be," Brynjolf laughed. "Robb, how are the kids?"

"Samuel turned six last week," the far guard answered, his smile evident in his voice, even though they couldn't see it.

"Oh, give him my best wishes."

"Enough!" the bandit leader yelled.

"I agree." Malia surged forward and thrust both swords through an unsuspecting bandit, yanking them free. The sight of blood threw everyone into action. Brynjolf dashed past her towards the archer, narrowly avoiding an arrow aimed for his head. The three guards worked as a team against the leader. Malia wove her way through the impending chaos, jumping over the unconscious man, and locked swords with the two remaining bandits, holding them at bay with each of her swords.

The one on her left jumped back and thrust towards her thigh, but she sidestepped away and whirled behind the one on her right. She kicked the back of his knee, forcing him onto it, then kicked again between his shoulder blades, knocking him face down in the dirt. She stepped on and over him, dropping down to slide between the other man, swinging her sword up as she passed, catching him in the groin. She wasn't one for dirty moves, but then again, there wasn't any point to fight bandits honorably. He screamed in pain and dropped to his knees, holding his crotch. Malia shot to her feet and saw blood streaming to the ground.

The other bandit got up and snarled at her, his sword raised high overhead as he rushed her. She cursed quickly before ducking low and elbowing him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. She quickly spun and sliced through his thigh, grimacing at the splatter of blood that squirted on her bare forearm. She dropped one sword, reached around to grab the man's head, and quickly slit his throat, spilling his blood on the ground. She pushed him aside and quickly did the same to the other bandit. Tossing her hair back with a jerk of her head, she looked around. Brynjolf had made quick enough work of the archer, who was sporting a dagger sticking out of his eye. The leader had been taken down as well, but the guard named Robb was holding his chest, wheezing. She dropped her other sword and rushed over to him.

"Chest..." he panted. What remained of his shield was still strapped to his arm, but it was in splinters all around them. His wrist and hand was positively crushed. He had probably taken a full swing of that battleaxe with his shield, only to have it slam back into his chest, breaking several bones. Malia found the small strap of his helmet and pulled it free, revealing the man's face. He was bright-eyed and handsome with a dark stubble that matched his curly chocolate brown hair.

"Look at me," Malia encouraged softly. "Small breaths, not too quick. Try and even it out and calm down. I'm going to heal your chest first, okay?" He nodded and did his best to do as she asked. She moved him to lie on his back, then rubbed her hands together and called forth her magic. Her hands glowed with a golden light, tendrils of it licking up her forearms. She oh so gently pressed her palms to his chest and focused, finding the breaks and fractures. _No internal damage, that's good,_ she thought, wincing as his chest was forced to reform. The guard yelped in pain, but his comrades were quickly at his sides to keep him from moving too much. "Brynjolf, can you check on that man?" she called over her shoulder.

"On it!"

Malia smiled down at the guard. "Good news, Robb. You're halfway there." She unbuckled the ruined shield from his arm and tossed it aside. "Better news is that this one won't hurt as much." She carefully cradled his hand and wrist in her palms and carefully fused his bones back together. Robb coughed stifled a strained sound behind his free fist. "Sorry, I know it tickles. Suck it up. Brynjolf? How's he looking?"

"Not sure. You'd better get over here and check on him."

"I'm okay," Robb assured her, groaning as his fellow guards helped him sit up. Malia nodded and went over to Brynjolf and the stranger. He was wearing a set of handsome armor. Where it wasn't splattered with blood, dirt, and what looked like black ichor, polished metal shined. His half-plate had a massive tear down the front, but pulling back his similarly torn collar revealed no wound. She pressed her index and middle finger against his neck and felt the flutter of a heartbeat.

"He's alive, that's a start," she declared, sighing.

"Poor bastard looks like he's been through hell," Brynjolf observed.

"But he's fine. There's nothing. She pressed against other tears in his armor and clothes. They were all damp with blood, but her fingers always brushed smooth, unmarred skin. "Nothing wrong with him at all. What happened to him?" She pressed her hand to his stubbled cheek. "He seems troubled." He had a slight furrow in his brow. His sandy brown hair was in complete disarray. "Help me get him to Honeyside, will you?"

Together, the hefted the man up between them, and dragged him to the open gates of Riften, still barely awake. She dug her key out of her pocket and shouldered open the door to her home. Brynjolf all but threw him on her bed, the man's armor clanking loudly. "Divines, he's heavier than he looks," he grunted, rolling his left shoulder. "I'm gonna head back to the Guild. You've got this, right?"

"Yeah, I'll look after him," she agreed, putting her hands on her hips. "Tell Mercer I'll be back soon. See you later, Bryn."

"Lass." He closed the front door behind him. Malia went over to the unconscious man again, thinking of what she should attend to first. She shrugged and decided that his armor was a good place to start. She unbuckled his half plate and set it on her spare armor stand. Next, his boots and gloves. She pulled his tassets out from under him, setting them aside as well. With difficulty, she removed his coat of studs, too. As she pulled and maneuvered his body so he could lie properly in bed, she chuckled. _You really are heavier than you look,_ she sighed inwardly. She pulled the mussed covers over him and went back to the kitchen area. Mere minutes later, a warm, crackling fire was seeping a wonderful warmth throughout her house. She filled a jug of water from the barrel in the corner and poured it into a cup, setting it on the side table next to the bed.

"Who are you?" she breathed, wandering back to the fire and putting the kettle on. She rooted around for a bit, lighting a few candles, but her thoughts kept returning to the strange man in her bed. Why had he been alone? What was he doing in the middle of the Rift, unarmed? And why was his armor unlike Malia had ever seen? She tiptoed over to the set, picking up his half plate quietly and examining it in the low light. She ran her fingers along the tear in the metal, thinking. It was appeared more like silver than steel, but it felt as strong and firm as ebony. She had never seen anything like it. And the blue of the fabric of his clothes. It was sharper than any blue she had seen worked into clothes. Maybe she had seen something close to it, but only at the remarkable tailor's in Solitude.

_Stop spying on the man, Mal,_ she chided herself. Even so, she looked at him. He looked more at peace when he slept properly. She sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. It was warm, but not overly so, as if he had a fever. _Why would he? He has no wounds to treat._ She didn't have anything to do. All she could do was wait for him to wake up. _That's utterly boring._ She got up and went to sit at the small table in the kitchen, pulling a book toward her and propping her feet up on the chair opposite to her. She managed to keep her mind off of the man long enough to read a few chapters, but a subtle sound of him stirring in the next room had her on her feet in a heartbeat. She peeked around the corner and found him shifting beneath the blankets, eyes squinting up at the ceiling.

He froze the second he spotted Malia standing in the archway. His eyes were a warm brown, almost hazel color. "Who are you?" he rasped out, succumbing to a bout of coughing. Malia sat down on the edge again and offered him the cup of water. She eased his head up and made sure he took only small sips at first.

"My name's Malia," she said, setting the cup aside. "You're in my home in Riften. Some bandits wanted to kill you earlier, but you're safe now, here." She offered a small smile. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," he mumbled, resting his head back in the pillows. "Sore. Maker, what happened to me?"

"Do you remember anything?" she asked.

"Th'was a Nightmare demon...I told the Inquisitor to go..." He shook his head slowly, frowning. "Where's the Inquisitor? Where's Hawke? Did they make it out?"

Malia cocked her head at him. "I don't know who you're talking about," she admitted. "We found you in the woods." She frowned as well. "What's your name?"

"Alistair... 'M Warden-Constable..."

_Warden-Constable?_ "You need to rest, Alistair. I promise that no harm will come to you here."

He stared at her for a second. "I...thank you." He sighed slowly and closed his eyes. Malia tucked the blanket back over his arms, but just as she was about to get up, his hand curled around her wrist. "My sword..."

They hadn't found him with a sword, and the scabbard and belt she had set aside had been free of a sword. "I'll find it," she promised. "Rest, now."

\---

Keeping a hand on the trunk of the tree she was in as she took another step along the bench. Her spell let her see in the dark, but it was useless unless she had a high vantage point. None of them had seen a sword, but it was entirely possible that Alistair hadn't lost it where they had found him. She would have appreciated a little more information about where he had come from, but Alistair needed rest more than she needed information. She made a face and dropped down to the ground with a grunt. She found another tree and climbed it as well. She took a moment to sit on the branch and take a moment. Her thoughts were drawn back to Goldenglow estate. She had a bad feeling about whatever Mercer was planning, and an even worse feeling that it involved her.

An owl hooted in the distance. She heard a wolf's cry even further in the other direction, towards the mountains. There was a chill wind coming down from them, promising a harsh winter. She wished the summers were longer in Skyrim. She longed for the sun-warmed lands of Elsweyr again. She wished she could smell the salty sea again and dream of white sails and golden sunsets. She missed the way her father would sing her to sleep or how he would tell her tales of legendary pirates and explorers that sailed to all the corners of the world. She loved Skyrim, but she missed home.

A fox down on the ground caught her attention, pulling her from her daydreams. It was staring up at her, its ears high up in the air, its head cocked. She froze, wary of scaring it. It trotted a little further down the way before turning back and looking at her again. She slipped down and followed it silently. It was always wise to follow foxes, she heard, because they would always bring good luck. She needed a fair amount if she was going to keep her promise to Alistair. It led her deeper into the birch forest, away from the slopes of the mountains. She followed it past Merryfair Farm, avoiding the Stormcloak camp she knew was just to the north.

"You're leading me toward Autumnshade Clearing," she said quietly. It stopped and looked at her again, sniffing at her silently. It led her to the clearing she knew. Luna moths and torchbugs floated around the tall pines that marked the area.

_Please let there be no spriggans,_ she prayed. _Please, please, please, I do not need that kind of trouble right now._

The fox circled around a bush until Malia noticed it. She went over and pushed the branches and leaves aside. Shining metal greeted her eyes. Her face broke into a wide smile and she pulled the sword from the bush. It was lighter than she was expecting, but free of any scratches or nicks. The hilt was adorned with a griffon, just like Alistair's armor. There was a rose carved into the pommel. Malia smiled down at the fox, pressing her hand over her heart with her free hand. "Thank you, little one."

Before she could find out if there _were_ spriggans around, she quickly left, finding the darkened, cobbled road that would take her back home. She couldn't help herself; she tested the sword with a few swings. It felt like she was cutting the air itself, and she considered Alistair a lucky man to have such a weapon. Her own swords were made of ebony, black as night, and they never failed to find their targets.

Riften was dead asleep once again. She loved how generally quiet the city was during the day, but she especially appreciated how silent it became at night. Nodding to the guards of the night shift, they let her through without so much as a question to her business. Being Thane of the Rift had its perks. The warmth of Honeyside greeted her as she stepped through the door of her home once again. Alistair was still sleeping, and even snoring quietly. Malia smiled at his ease and returned his sword to its scabbard.

The scrape of metal caused Alistair to flinch, and before Malia could utter a quick prayer that he would stay asleep, his eyes fluttered open. he groaned and tried to sit up, dragging a hand down his face.

"Good morning," she greeted him. "Or, good night, I suppose. You slept through the day."

"I...really?" He looked down at himself and pressed his hands to his chest. "Where's my armor?"

"On the chair." She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead again. "Still no fever. I think it's safe to say you're in the clear, Alistair. You just needed the rest. How do you feel?"

"Better, I think." She poured him some more water and passed the cup to his hands. "Thank you, Malia."

"It's a little late, but I'll get you something to eat, and you can tell me what happened to you." She took a step back and offered a hand. He grasped it and she steadily pulled him to his feet. She grabbed the spare blanket off the edge of the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. He mumbled thanks as his cheeks and ears went a little pink. "Sorry," she giggled. "I have a tendency to be motherly. At least that's what Brynjolf teases me about."

She sat him down at the little kitchen table while she made quick work finding him a plate of bread, cheese, and a couple of apples. Alistair wasted no time digging in, and rather than risk him choking as he tried to answer her questions, she kept them to herself, fiddling with the kettle over the fire again. She soon sat down with two mugs of tea, sliding one over to him. It was easy to observe him when he was so enamored with the food in front of him. He was strong, that much was obvious. Hard won muscle sat beneath his near ruined underclothes. She caught the barest glances of multiple scars hiding beneath his clothes as well, and she couldn't help but wonder what line of work had given him so many. He was no mercenary, that she was confident of. His armor was too handsome, and his sword was castle-forged. Was he a knight? She almost snorted. There weren't many knights outside of Cyrodiil, and Skyrim certainly wasn't the place for them.

There was a knock at her door and she went to answer it. She yelped in surprise when the feline face of of Dro'Vasdar. Without even thinking, she jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, completely forgetting about the strange man in her kitchen. Dro'Vasdar laughed as he squeezed her tightly. "What in the name of the Divines are you doing here, Vas?" Malia cried, burying her face in the soft fur of his neck.

"Can a man like myself not simply pop by every once in a while?" he asked. He set her down, his brilliantly white teeth flashing as he smiled at her. "You've grown your hair out." He tucked a lock of her bangs behind her pointed ear. "I like it."

"Oh, shut up and get in here!" She pulled him in by his wrist and closed the door behind them. "You're supposed to be Morrowind!"

Malia had known Dro'Vasdar since she was a little girl, even before her father died. He was a khajiit from Elsweyr, though he wasn't a part of any caravan. He had dealings with them, same as she did, but he was more akin to a smuggler than anything else. He had taken care of her after she found herself alone in the world, taught her all she needed to know of the world until she could go off and leave her own mark on it. She called him Dro'Vasdar because although they were not related by blood, he was her grandfather in every other regard. His fur was silver, grey, and black, though the black had given way to the others over the years.

"Alas, my business in Morrowind lead me to Solstheim, and my business there on that little island has led me to your Thieves Guild," Dro'Vasdar told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It seems that Delvin Mallory's brother is looking for support."

"Glover? Divines, the Guild hasn't heard from him in years." Alistair cleared his throat awkwardly, making Malia jump a little. "Love and light, what's the matter with me? Dro'Vasdar, this is Alistair. Alistair, this is Dro'Vasdar." Malia frowned when she realized that Alistair had gone horrifically pale, and his hand was gripping the edge of the table tightly. "Vas, can you give us a moment?" The khajiit nodded and strode into the other room and down the stairs. Malia quickly kneeled in front of Alistair, her instincts kicking in.

"Deep breaths," she advised. "Match them with mine. You're alright."

"I don't..." he gasped, rubbing a hand over his chest. Malia stood and pulled the blanket tighter around him. "What...is that?"

"Vas?" He nodded slowly, closing his eyes. "He's my grandfather. Well, obviously not by blood, but he's family."

_"What_ is he?" Alistair reiterated in a sharper tone.

Malia dragged her chair over and sat down, grasping Alistair's hands tightly so he had an anchor. He trembled in her grasp, still trying to breathe. She was confused to all hell, but she implored herself to be patient. "He's a khajiit from Elsweyr," she explained slowly. "Cat-men."

"Cats," he echoed in a mumble. Malia nodded, though he wouldn't see the gesture. "I've never..."

"Alistair?" The sound of his name opened his eyes. Brown irises met her green ones, brimming with confusion and frustration. "Listen to me, okay?" He nodded. "Where are you from?"

"Ferelden. I'm the Warden-Constable at Vigil's Keep in Amaranthine."

_Half of those words didn't make sense,_ she thought to herself. "Okay. Warden-Constable. Vigil's Keep. Amaranthine. Ferelden. Do you know where you are now?" He shook his head. "You're in my house, in Riften, in the Rift, in Skyrim." She gave his hands a tight squeeze. "Please, please stay calm when I say this. I've never heard of the places you just named. Never."

They stared at each other for what seemed like years. Alistair's hands slowly starting crushing Malia's, his face going, if possible, even paler. _What?_ he mouthed. He couldn't even say it. He cleared his throat, but it came out as a a high-pitched voice crack. Without warning, he pitched forward, his eyes rolling back and fluttering shut. Malia yelped and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to stop him from slamming to the ground. "Vas!" she shouted.

Within seconds, her friend was up the stairs and helping Malia get Alistair up by his arms, one flung over each of their shoulders. "What happened?" Dro'Vasdar asked once Alistair was back in bed. Malia pressed a finger to her lips and led him outside to the deck.

"Okay, just listen to me for two minutes before you ask any questions, alright?" Malia took a deep breath and started pacing. "Alistair has never seen a khajiit before. You can't fake that kind of shock. He is the Warden-Constable of...some place called Vigil's Keep in Amaranthine. He's got armor and a sword made of something I've never seen before. Bryn and I found him in the middle of the woods surrounded by bandits. None of it makes sense."

"Malia-"

"You know I'm not someone to jump to conclusions, Vas. Even when we were on that one job, crossing the border into Black Marsh, and the patrols stopped us, I never for a second thought we were going to get arrested because we didn't have anything on us."

_"Silla-"_

"He _can't_ be from here, Vas. Not Skyrim. Not Tamriel. Not-"

"Malia!" Vas snapped, grasping her shoulders, his claws gently scratching her skin beneath her shirt. "Breathe." She nodded, closed her eyes, and took deep breaths. "What is the first rule of smuggling, _Silla?"_

She scoffed, smirking. "'Panic is a poison,'" she recited. "I know, _I know,_ Vas." She looked up at him, studying his golden eyes and dark irises, glowing faintly, signaling his night vision. She considered her next words carefully. "But every conclusion I keep coming to is the simple fact that Alistair does not belong in our world, on our plane, however you want to put it."

Dro'Vasdar gave her a single nod. "I believe you, little one. Remember what I am, Malia. A khajiit, a smuggler, and a mage to boot. I have heard plenty of mysteries of this world, and others. I have heard that one day the sun will rise in the west and set in the east. A pirate once told me that the moons will someday merge into one. When I was just a kitten, I met a traveling mage who studied at the College of Winterhold. He believed that the dragons that once ruled this world will rise again to reclaim it."

"You know how I feel about that last one," Malia giggled.

"My point, little one, is that you will be hard pressed to tell me something that I do not believe is possible. If you tell me that this man is not of our world, then I believe your judgement. I only wish I knew how to help you."

"Alistair needs the help more than I do." She turned toward the lake and rested her arms on the railing. "How does one cope with that? Really driving home the whole 'stranger in a strange land' saying." She glanced back toward the double doors. "I don't know _how_ to help him, Vas. I don't even know how he got here."

Vas rested his hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting. "How did I help _you,_ little one?"

"You turned me into one of the best smugglers Tamriel has ever witnessed," she bragged sarcastically. She paused. "I remember that day perfectly, you know? The day we buried my father. You took me to your wagon and made me the best cup of tea I've ever had in my life. We just talked, and kept talking until the sun went down, and even after that. Talked about my father, about our stories of him. You loved him like a brother, and you started to love me like your daughter."

"Only far too young and little," Vas added with a quiet chuckle.

Malia grinned as well. "Fine. _Granddaughter,_ you old cat. You gave me the world, Vas. You've taken me to the northern shores of the Eltheric League to the southern forests of Valenwood, where my people are. You taught me to cherish compassion and love and the very world around me." She shook her head, looking up at the stars. "There is nothing I can do in this life that would repay you for that gift."

"Yes, you can." Malia looked at him, confused. "Take all that you said, all that you've learned, and give that to that young man in there. He may have lost much of his world, but there is everything of this one that you can gift to him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't really decided if I'm going to do much Alistair POV writing, but they'll definitely be here and there


	2. Silverite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malia learns to roll with the punches when it comes to taking care of the strange man who passed out in her arms the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing super exciting happens in this chapter, fair warning, but it's still part of the story, so enjoy!

Malia hummed absentmindedly as she braided her hair, her feet swishing in the waters of the lake. She was trying not to worry about Alistair, but he hadn't woken up since he fainted the night before. The more and more she thought about him the more and more she imagined his despair. She was convinced that the man was not of her world. She had never seen someone react in the way he did when he saw Dor'Vasdar, a khajiit. She had seen others take second glances, maybe stare a little, but nobody had just up and _fainted_ at the sight of fur rather than skin. She groaned inwardly, trying not to imagine how he would react to seeing an argonian for the first time.

She had been introduced to the world's variables at an early age. She had been around all colors of fur and skin and scales since before she could count one thousand. She had learned how to sail on the ocean before even that. She could barely remember a time when she had been in Elsweyr and hadn't been on the water or running barefoot through across the worn docks. She had learned that there was hardly a better place to learn of the world than on the dock of a ship, or in the company of her sailors.

Sadly, there were no glittering blue waters in the Rift.

She returned to her house, quietly closing the doors behind her so she didn't wake up Alistair. Only, Alistair wasn't in her bed. Feeling a pang of panic, she rushed into the kitchen, only to find it empty. "Oh, piss!" she cursed, frowning as she froze in place and closed her eyes, listening. The crackle of the fireplace wasn't helpful, but it was easy enough to hear an extra set of lungs breathing downstairs. She rushed down and nearly shouldered through the door of her spare room. She found Alistair sitting in a chair across from the slim bed. Dro'Vasda sat on the edge of the bed. They both looked at her when she entered, curiosity on their features.

She chuckled. "Don't scare me like that again," she said to Alistair, smiling.

"Sorry," he mumbled quietly, looking at his feet and wrapping his blanket tighter around his shoulders.

"I have been answering his questions," Vas explained, gesturing to the open space beside him. Malia sat down and tucked her stray bangs back over her ears. "I have to admit, I have never explained so much of the world in such little time."

"What have you gotten to?" she asked.

"The lands of Tamriel, the current situation involving the Dominion and the Empire, the Stormcloak rebels gaining more reputation every day..." Vas shook his head. "I am afraid we have covered more politics than I ever intended to, but the pup seems to understand it the best."

"Pup?" Malia giggled.

"I like dogs," Alistair added with a lopsided smirk. "Believe me, I've had plenty of worse nicknames."

_"I need to go speak with Delvin,"_ Vas said to her in their mother tongue. _"You'll watch him?"_

"He's a guest in _my_ house," she responded. "Go ahead. I'll get some food in him." She looked to Alistair. "Sorry for talking about you like you're not here, but we deal in...sensitive information." Alistair nodded, wisely keeping his mouth shut. Vas nodded goodbye to them both and left them with each other's company. "Feeling alright?" she asked. "You scared the shit out of me yesterday."

"Sorry. Suddenly seeing a...cat...man...person." He made a face and shook his head. "Thank you again for helping me."

"Of course," Malia assured him. "I know how hard it can be to trust strangers these days." She offered her hand, and once he took it, she got to her feet and pulled him to his own. "Now, come on. We've got a fair amount of work to do today."

"Work?" Alistair looked puzzled.

She refrained from rolling her eyes. "You need clothes. Your armor needs to be repaired." She paused, biting her bottom lip. "And we should probably keep teaching you about this world, but there are better places to do that than stuck up in here."

Alistair looked around. "I like your home. It's nice. Cozy."

She lead the way upstairs. "True, and I love it all the more because it's _my_ home, but it can be damn confining at times." She went to the wardrobe and rooted through it, pulling out his bluer-than-blue surcoat. "It took me a while to mend, and I'm not as good with a needle-" She turned around and offered it to him. "-but it's still mended. I thought this would be better than having you wear some of the Divines-awful outfits sold at the Pawned Prawn."

Alistair was holding his breath; Malia could hear the unnatural silence. He stared at his coat, his eyes wide and unbelieving. He pulled the blanket off his shoulders and draped it over the foot of the bed. He reached out, moving slower than a glacier, until the tips of his fingers brushed the threads of the coat. "You...fixed it?" he breathed. She nodded. He took it in his hands, his thumbs still brushing over the fabric. "I thought I'd never get to wear this blue again." He looked up, his warm brown eyes shining with tears. "Thank you."

Malia flinched inwardly, taken aback by his tenderness toward a simple surcoat. She was once again reminded of who Alistair was, and what he had lost. He was a man that was not of her world, and he had lost everything. Everything save for his coat, his armor, and his sword. That was all that remained of his world, of his life. "I..." She swallowed thickly. "You're welcome." She cleared her throat and stepped past him to go toward the kitchen. "Riften tends to be cold, being in the corner of the coldest province of Tamriel, so you'll want to be wearing that when we go out."

"Out? Out for what?"

"To fix your strange armor. Balimund just might be good enough."

\---

"I'm not sure I'm good enough for this."

"What?" Malia almost shouted. She closed her eyes for a moment, shook her head, and held up a finger. "Balimund, you're one of the best smiths in Skyrim. You're good enough to fuel your forge using fire salts yet you're saying you can't fix his armor?"

"Now hold on, little miss, I didn't say anything for certain!" He laughed and brushed his hands on his apron. "All I know for a fact is that I've never seen this metal before. I don't know how it works, don't know how long it'll take to melt, how much of a beating it can take before it gets brittle and unusable." He picked up Alistair's sword from the workbench and held it up to the sunlight. "Divines, but it's an impressive job. Castle-forged, for sure." He tapped the gilded griffon at the hilt. "And this amount of detail is honestly stunning."

Malia turned around to where Alistair was talking with Balimund's son, Asbjorn, near the front door of the Scorched Hammer. She sighed. She didn't want to just stroll up to him and tell him that she couldn't get his armor fixed because the material it was made of simply _didn't exist_ in Tamriel. "Give me the odds," she said to the smith. "This all the man has left of home."

Balimund hummed and set the sword down, picking up the ruined half plate. She waited patiently as he looked at it from every angle, running his fingers over the dents and tears in the metal. "I can't promise perfection," he said matter-of-factly. "But I think I can give it a good go."

Malia's face lit up. "Really?" she all but squeaked. "You'd be a lifesaver, Bal. _Literally!_" She laughed at her own joke and hopped up on her tiptoes to peck a kiss on his cheek. "Seriously though, take as much time as you need. I can find him something else to clad Alistair in for the time being."

Balimund studied her for a second. "What's you're plan with him?" he asked, his tone gentle. She loved that about Balimund. He was one of the most gruff looking people she had ever met in Skyrim, yet he had the softest heart of anyone she had ever met in Skyrim as well. "You've never met him, yet you're pulling out the stops to help him. You've brought him into your home. I have to ask why."

She couldn't help but smile. "Because someone once did the same for me a long time ago."

"Aye, Vas is a good man, and he taught you well. All I'm curious about is if the lad is worth all the trouble."

Malia giggled. "The only trouble he's been is kicking me out of my bed for two nights in a row. But I appreciate the concern, Bal, really. I'm just trying to get him back on his feet and out wherever he belongs." She wanted to spill everything. Who Alistair was, how he wasn't from their world, but she thought it best if it stayed between Vas, Alistair, and herself. "We'll get out of your hair so you can work."

"Take care, Mal."

Malia sheathed Alistair's sword and went over to where he was talking to Asbjorn. "Ready to go?" she asked the former.

"My armor?" he asked, glancing at the forge.

"Bal's gonna give it his best effort, and believe me, his work is pretty spectacular," she assured him with a smile. She handed back his sword. He held it with both hands, almost like a child would grasp a toy. "Want to go back to the house?"

"Sure."

"Take care, Asbjorn," she bid the other young man farewell. They walked along the short distance back to the house. "I-uh..." Malia ran a hand through her hair and chuckled nervously. "What would you like to do?"

"What?" Alistair asked.

She looked back at him. He was standing almost awkwardly in the kitchen. He had set his sword near the door. "Sorry, I'm not used to company," she explained. "Or at least company that isn't Vas. Nor am I used to looking after someone." A heated blush was creeping up her neck. "But I'm sure you don't want to wait around the whole time while we wait for Balimund to repair your armor, right?"

To her surprise, Alistair's ears went pink like her cheeks. "Oh..." He glanced down at his feet. "I thought I would simply...go with the flow?"

Malia cocked her head, frowning slightly. "So, you're saying there's nothing you like to do?" she teased lightly. "Play dice? Frolic in the woods? Take jobs ridding the world of bandits and thieves?"

He chuckled nervously. "Definitely no on the frolicking part," he quickly said. "And I'm afraid of my days of taking mercenary jobs are over."

"You were a mercenary?" She gestured to the kitchen table and he sat.

"Not quite." Malia worked quickly on bringing the fire back to life and setting a kettle on. "I've simply had experience with having to take such jobs in order to survive. You know, the usual."

"The usual," she echoed softly. "So..." She sat down opposite him and rested her chin in her hand, thinking. "Not a mercenary, but familiar with the kind of work. Your armor is unique, unlike any craftsmanship I've ever seen, but definitely castle forged..."

"Trying to figure me out?" he asked, mimicking her pose.

"I'll most likely fail," she admitted. "I tend to avoid people in my line of work."

"And what is your line of work?"

She clicked her tongue and made a face. "Hold on, it's still my turn." She squinted at him. "Divines, this is difficult." The kettle whistled, distracting her. She got to her feet and fixed the tea for them, sitting down again after giving Alistair his. Malia wrapped her fingers around her mug, sighing contentedly. "A knight," she said firmly. "And that's extended to anyone's personal guard as well."

Alistair smiled and shook his head. "Not quite," he replied. "I'm a Grey Warden. In my..." He cleared his throat. "Uh, where I come from, they're warriors and rogues and mages of great renown. Our initiation ritual give us the ability to fight creatures called darkspawn. They're twisted and tainted and destroy everything living and good."

Malia sat back. "Wow," she breathed. "I was way off. So you're a member of an order?"

"One of the oldest there is," he explained. "I was recruited a little over ten years ago."

"So that armor is standard issue?"

"For the most part. The design differs from fighting class and personal tidbits." He looked at his sword. "It's not standard issue for the swords to have roses on the pommels."

Malia chewed on her bottom lip. Why had he been sad when he had said that? Some sort of light had dimmed in his features, like an old ghost he couldn't shake, couldn't ever be parted from. She knew the feeling, unfortunately.

"Well, then your order has beautiful armor," she declared, quickly trying to lighten the conversation. "I'm afraid our are almost dreary."

Alistair turned his attention back to her and cleared his throat again. "Oh, that's right! It's my turn." His almost boyish look returned. "You've already given away that you wear standard issue armor." Malia smiled and cursed under her breath. He laughed. "People are not in your line of work, but it seems like you get along with everyone. You saved me, so you obviously know your way around a fight."

For a moment, Malia thought about lying. After all, it _was_ illegal to be a thief. But Riften was different, and sat atop the home of the Thieves Guild in Skyrim. The business and protection within the walls relied on the profit and leverage of the Guild. Sure, it got nasty at times and it wasn't always fair, but it was simply how it was. She felt a pang of fright over what Alistair would think if he learned who she was.

"Assassin," Alistair stated abruptly.

Malia burst out laughing. "What assassins have you met that were good with people?" she cried, covering her mouth with a hand. "Ours are just in and out the windows!"

"One of my closest friends is an assassin," Alistair explained. "In fact, he was sent to kill me and my....my comrade."

There it was again. That little flicker of sadness. It was a person, this comrade of his. She could make all sorts of assumptions, but she halted her thoughts before she could blurt out anything embarrassing. "You make it sound like you talked him out of killing you," she quickly replied.

"You're not far off, but he actually offered not to kill us. Once we had, uh, taken care of the rest of the group that ambushed us. They weren't all assassins, just swords for hire, otherwise we never would have gotten out of there."

Alistair talked for hours. Malia liked the conversation. To talk to someone who wasn't Vas or Brynjolf or any other Guild members. To talk of something other than jobs or clients or numbers. Besides, how more exciting could conversation get than hearing a strange man talk about his stranger world? He talked of everything from his friends to the Grey Wardens to the Inquisition. It was odd to hear of things she had no understanding of, but the general principle behind everything made perfect sense.

A rhythmic knock at the door had Malia smirking. She got up and went to the door. "Who is it?" she asked, laughter in her voice.

"A handsome devil looking for the most beautiful woman in Riften!" came Brynjolf's voice.

She opened the door and he stepped inside. "Divines, don't let Vex hear you saying that, otherwise she might put fire ants in your blankets again."

"'Red like your hair,'" he quoted her, scratching the back of her neck. "Believe me, I remember, lass." He turned to Alistair. "So you're the one keeping our star thief from work."

Alistair's face lit up. "I was close!" he declared.

"We were guessing each other's lines of work," Malia explained. "But we kind of got to talking about..." She glanced at Alistair. "Things."

"Things?"

"I can pull up a chair and get you some tea if you want to join?" she offered. "As long as Alistair's okay with it?"

"Sure, absolutely."

She gave Brynjolf a chair and a mug. "What brings you over?"

"House call," he explained. "You haven't been around, so..." He shrugged and gave Alistair a kind look. "Forgive us for being a little worried."

"No offense taken..."

"Brynjolf."

"Alistair." The men shook hands. Alistair looked at Malia curiously. "Does he know about...?"

"No, but he was there when you were rescued. It's, ah...really up to you whether you want to tell him."

"You two are killing me!" the resident redhead exclaimed.

Alistair crossed his arms, his face going a little pink again. No doubt from all the attention him and his history were getting. "I'm not sure where to even start."

"Keep it simple," Malia suggested, smiling deviously. "Bryn here's not the most imaginative kind." The man himself reached over and smacked her arm, sending her into a fit of giggles.

"How simple can I put 'I'm from another world'?"

Silence befell the table. "Just like that," Malia murmured.

The next hour or so was spent with Alistair answering question after question. Malia helped where she could, but even her knowledge of Alistair's past was limited. Every once in a while she would rest her foot on his beneath the table as a form of reassurance, that she would stop everything if he wanted to. Every time, without fail, he would shoot a look at her from across the little table, along with a tiny smirk right in the corner of his mouth.

"Damn lass, you really can pick 'em," Brynjolf sighed, getting up and going over to the cabinet where she kept her bottles of mead and ale. "Damn!"

"You really know how to pick 'em?" Alistair scoffed.

Malia tried to give her best innocent look. "I have a tendency to be an 'overly' good sanitarian, as Bryn puts it. Though, in my defense, none of them have been invited to stay in my house and recuperate."

Brynjolf returned to his chair with three bottles of Black-Briar mead. "That's a ringer, lass. A real ringer."

"You're telling me," Mal sighed.

He uncorked his bottle and took a long drag. "I guess I should tell Delvin that he won't be losing any money to you soon."

"He only loses money to me because he's not as good at cheating as he thinks he is. How's Vas?"

"Vas always has a home with the Guild, lass, as do you. You two are family." Brynjolf laughed. "He was actually thinking about taking a job from us."

"Vas? On a Guild job?"

"More like the Guild is dabbling in Vas' kind of work. A one-off thing from a client who needs something delivered to Solstheim."

"Glover's neighborhood? Usually things tend to go _out_ of that little grey island." Malia paused. "Wait, shit, I'm sorry." She shook her head. "We shouldn't talk shop with Alistair here, it's rude."

Brynjolf tipped his head and his bottle at her. "You're right. Besides, if we spill any more business details, we'll have to make a call to the Dark Brotherhood and set up a contract," he finished lightly.

"No, no we will not!" Malia laughed. "Divines, don't scare the man!"

"Those your assassins?" Alistair asked. Malia nodded. "Your Guild works with them?"

"As a last resort," Brynjolf said before she could. "We only commission them when they endanger the Guild and anyone within it."

"Last time it happened was over five years ago."

"Right, right, those two idiots from Hammerfell that caused us a world of trouble. Jumped a member on the road and held them for ransom."

"I was the member," Malia told Alistair with a bright smile. "Scared this old man half to death." Brynjolf flicked his cork at her, which she caught and gave him a sly look.

It was interesting, how they talked. Two thieves and a Grey Warden, sharing drinks. Malia couldn't remember a time when she simply hung out with people that weren't criminals in the eyes of the law. Perhaps when she was still a kid in Elsweyr. Alistair was a welcome change in her life.

A surprise yawn was drawn from her, and despite her efforts to hide it behind a hand, Brynjolf caught it. "I'll let you two enjoy the rest of the night," he offered, getting to his feet. "Thanks for the drinks, lass."

"You always thank me, but you never ask for permission to drink it," Malia chuckled, accepting a hug from him. "I'll keep in touch, give you some fair warning when I check back in with the Guild."

"No rush, lass," he assured her, adding a kiss to the top of her head. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "If you were gonna stare at him all night like _that,_ I might have left more time for the two of you to spend alone. And I _know _you think he's handsome."

As Malia's cheeks burned hotter than a fireball spell, he offered his hand again to Alistair. "Nice to meet you, lad. Glad to know you didn't murder our best thief."

Alistair accepted the handshake. "Wouldn't dream of it," he replied easily.

Once Brynjolf left, Malia blew out her cheeks, praying Alistair wouldn't ask her what he had said. "Conversations with Brynjolf last _at least_ an hour, if not longer." She grabbed the bottles and set them aside. "Mind if I set you up in the spare room? I'd sort of like my bed back."

"Oh, yeah, of course, I'm sorry," Alistair rushed to say. "I didn't intend to kick you out of it for two days."

"It's no issue." They retrieved a new set of sheets for both the upstairs and downstairs bed and set to taking the old ones off. Malia's mind was cluttered with things to say, with questions to ask. More importantly, she wanted to ask herself why she was so drawn to his company. She had an inkling, though.

Alistair was good. She wasn't. He was a renowned warrior and had helped save his world. She was a thief, and benefited off of the ill fortune of others. She could argue all day that the good she tried to do would outweigh that, but it simply wasn't true. It was nice to spend time with someone who was actually good and warm and kind.

_Warm? _she thought with a frown as they were spreading a sheet over her bed. _Good and warm and kind. Interesting. _"All set?" she asked once the comforter had been spread as well.

"Seems so," he agreed. He put his hands on his hips, then let them rest at his side. "I, um..." He rubbed his hands together. "Goodnight, I guess."

"Night," she returned, smiling as he disappeared down the stairs. She changed into her sleeping clothes and slipped into bed. She pulled her extra pillow close and shuffled until she was comfortable.

Unfortunately, that left her with nothing to do but consider her stray thoughts. She sighed heavily and squeezed her eyes shut. She wished she had straight answers for Alistair, wished she could offer him a surefire way home, but she couldn't. She couldn't offer him anything but her home and her company.

_"I **know** you think he's handsome."_

_Damn you, Bryn._


	3. Bees?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malia prays for something exciting to happen and gets a little more than she bargained for.

Malia was ready to lose it.

It wasn't that taking some time away from the Guild wasn't fun. In fact, she was having a great time. It was nice to show Alistair around Riften and the Rift. He particularly liked riding, she found out. Traveling casually through the autumn colored birch forests on horseback seemed to put him at ease. She tried to stay away from mentioning the whole "not from her world" fact, but it was hardly completely avoidable.

Seeing Alistair discover that chessboards were square was certainly a laugh. Malia spent more than a few days teaching him how to play. He would tell her stories about the Grey Wardens at Vigil's Keep, where he was stationed as Warden-Constable. He had passed the opportunity to be the Warden-Commander and given it instead to a senior Warden from Orlais, a neighboring country.

Sometimes it was hard to keep up with what he said, but he was always patient when Malia asked questions. She had started to write down some of the things she wanted to remember. Names, places, events, and even phrases Alistair often said. "Maker's breath," was the most common.

While it was all wonderful and good fun, her fingers itched. She missed the Guild.

"Malia?"

Hearing her name snapped her train of thought. Her pointed ears perked up and she looked at Alistair. He was sitting near the fire, sharpening his sword. The metal, _silverite_ as he called it, reflected the light beautifully. "Hmm? Sorry. Lost in thought."

"I asked if you might have heard anything about my armor," he said.

_Oh._ "No, I haven't, but why don't I go check real quick?" She got to her feet and stretched her arms over her head.

"You don't have to go right now," Alistair rushed to say, straightening up. "I was only curious."

"It's no problem," she assured him with a small smile. "Balimund is a stone's throw away, remember? I'll be five minutes."

He nodded and turned back to his work. Malia quickly slipped into her armor and out the door, breathing in the cold humid air of twilight. The days were getting shorter. She was sorely missing summer. Soon the torchbugs would disappear and the lake would freeze over. Winter was always a dull time for thieves. People stayed indoors, closer to their valuables and made them much harder to steal. Work would soon turn light.

_That means more time to spend with Alistair,_ she thought to herself as she stepped up to Balimund's front door. Her cheeks flared red and she shook her head. _Stop it, Mal,_ she chided herself. _You can't let him stay with you forever. He's a good man. You're a thief. That's not compatible._ She exhaled roughly and knocked, tucking her hands in her pockets to keep them warm.

Within a few seconds, the door opened, revealing Asbjorn's face. "Hi there, Malia," he greeted her brightly.

"Hi," she returned, grinning kindly. "I just wanted to swing by and check in on how your father's doing with the project I left with him. You know, the silver armor?"

"Oh, right, right! Funny you should ask. I know it needs just a few more adjustments, and then all that's left to do is throw a nice coat of polish on it. In fact, I'm sure it'll be done by tomorrow afternoon. You can come by then if it's convenient?"

She nodded. "Sure, absolutely. Thanks, Asbjorn. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Take care, Mal."

She waved him goodbye and was about to turn back to Honeyside when a quieted hissing sound called her attention to the market. She recognized it immediately, rolling her eyes and walking over to Brynjolf's prop stall. The man himself was sitting on the wall behind it, twirling his dagger between his fingers. "Catcalling women in the dark of night?" she teased, her tone falling a little flat.

Brynjolf noticed. He raised an eyebrow and said, "Geez, someone's not having a good day."

She waved her hand passively, silently telling him she wasn't about to elaborate. "Let me guess. Mercer is getting irritated about me staying away?"

"Bingo, lass." Brynjolf slid off the wall. "Look, I know you've more than earned a little vacation, but you know Mercer."

"I know."

"And...this time it involves Goldenglow as well."

Malia's heart skipped uneasily. "Goldenglow? I thought that was put on hold until the spring?"

"As did I, lass, but it seems that someone's shoved a thorn deep in Mercer's side, and he's getting impatient. He's chosen you for the job, lass."

"Vex couldn't even get in!" she argued quietly, wary of lingering guards or citizens. "She's the Guild's best infiltrator and Mercer's sending _me_ in?"

"Can we discuss this further back in the cistern?" Brynjolf suggested.

Malia huffed indignantly. For a moment, she thought about rejecting the offer with the excuse of having to get back to Alistair. _He's an adult,_ she argued mentally. _He can survive on his own for an hour._ "Fine."

New recruits and low level thieves had to use the Ratway and the Ragged Flagon to reach the Thieves Guild. Malia and Brynjolf had the luxury of using the secret entrance under the temple of Mara. Malia nudged the shadowmark button with her foot and they watched as the coffin slid into the wall, grinding viciously.

"We seriously can't get this thing to be any quieter?" she asked. Bryn just shrugged and she made her way down the ladder.

"Look who decided to show up?" Sapphire greeted her. "Tired of babysitting, so you decided to get your hands a little dirty?"

Malia raised an eyebrow a her. "Looks like somebody's grumpy because they had to finally do actual _work_ in my absence," she countered. She offered a peaceful grin. "Duty calls, Saph."

She nodded. "Between you and me, I think he's rushing things a little." She held a finger up and gave her a warning look. "But you didn't hear that from me."

Brynjolf walked past them and Malia moved to follow. "Hear what?" She smiled fully and kept one step behind Brynjolf. With the day winding down, the cistern was following suit. Only the people who lived down in the cistern were out and about. She felt like she was destined for the gallows as she approached Mercer's little office space. The man himself was bent over his desk, nearly scowling at more than a few documents on it.

"She's right here, Mercer, so you can stop worrying," Brynjolf said. She could tell he was trying to keep the mood light, given Mercer's short patience _and_ temper.

Mercer looked up, his expression staying the same as he regarded her. "I see you've finally decided to come out of that hole of yours," he said. Malia considered talking back, but thought the better of it. "Well, good, because your name's been drawn for the Goldenglow job."

"Drawn, right," she couldn't help but sigh. "Got it. When do you want this done?"

"Tonight."

"What?!" her and Brynjolf exclaimed at the same time.

"Mercer, that's nearing suicide," he argued.

"Don't you have complete trust in your partner in crime, Brynjolf?" Mercer tested. "She knows the grounds, she knows the layout, she'll be fine."

_"She_ is standing right here and can speak for herself," Malia cut in sharply. Although she was practically simmering internally, she knew there would be no talking her boss into a deal to get her more time. "He's right, Bryn. I helped Vex go over it all the plans on her run. I'll be fine."

"Good," Mercer said. "Then go to work."

Malia couldn't help but give a mock salute and say, "Yes, sir," before stalking off, her cheeks burning in anger. She quickly made her way to her room down in the cistern and closed the door behind her. She let out a breath she'd been holding and pressed her forehead against the worn wood and closing her eyes. Mercer really knew how to get under her skin. They rarely argued, but had plenty of disagreements, verbal or simply silent ones.

"Whatever," she said to herself, turning around and putting her hands on her hips. She had a job to do. She had her armor, and now she just needed the right tools. She snapped a few times to light various candles around the room with magic. She rooted around her drawers until she found what she needed: a lockpick set, three knives, and a health potion just in case. "Okay, Mal. You've got the basics. Now you need a plan." She ran a hand through her hair and started to pace. "Plan-plan-plan-plan-plan..."

Goldenglow was an island in the middle of the lake. The only way to get on it was across the bridges. She had permission to kill anyone in her way, but trying to battle through a small army of mercenaries single-handedly was just plain stupid. She could use one of her invisibility potions she had been saving for a risky job such as Goldenglow, but none of them lasted longer than thirty seconds, and unless she was willing to sprint and make a lot of noise, that was out as well.

_How's your_ _swimming? _she asked herself. "Oh, you've gotta be shitting me." It made sense, and it was a better plan than any of the others. That didn't mean she had to like it. She had a dock right below her back door. She could swim to the island from there, then use the sewers like Vex had. She went over to her desk and rustled around until she found the map she had been looking for. She spread it out on her bed and pointed at the manhole just outside the compound.

"Mother of fuck, where did I put..." She snatched her quill and inkwell off the desk and drew a line on the map. Her route through the sewers wouldn't take her into the house itself, but it would have her come up right outside a side door.

_"It's a master lock,"_ Vex had said. _"Almost gave up and just kicked it down."_

"Alright, Mal, you've got the steps, now lay them out."

She started pacing again. "Go home. Then-" She groaned. She would have to talk to Alistair and either explain what was going on, or lie to him. She shook her head. She'd burn that bridge when she got to it. "Go home. Talk to Alistair. Swim to island. Go through sewers. Get inside. Find the papers. Get back outside. Burn _three_ beehives. Get back however I can." She ran it again and again in her head. She shrugged. It was...a majority of a plan, at least.

She left her room and went to find Brynjolf. He was in his usual spot in the training room, paging through a ledger of some kind. "I thought Delvin handled all our numbers," she joked.

He cocked his head. "Pet project," he said simply, snapping it shut and setting it aside. "So, what's your plan?" She explained it to him in as much detail as she'd thought of. "I...wasn't expecting that, I think."

"You think?"

He shrugged. "You're light on your feet, lass, everyone knows that, but I didn't think you'd rely solely on stealth for a mission as big as this."

She smirked. "Were you expecting me to blow up the bridge or try and talk my way in?" Brynjolf's hand darted out and ruffled her hair. She cursed at him and ducked away. "Wish me luck, okay? I'll be back by tomorrow morning."

Brynjolf wrapped his arm around her and squeezed tightly. "You be careful, lass, you hear me?" He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Good luck. Come back to us in one piece."

\---

Alistair wasn't anywhere upstairs when Malia got back home. She went downstairs and saw that his door was closed. She knocked. "Alistair? It's Mal. Can I talk to you for a second?" He opened the door after a few moments. His hair was stuck up on one end and his eyes were a little bleary. "Oh, fuck, I woke you up, didn't I?"

"S'okay," he assured her, dragging a hand down his face. "What'd you wanna talk about?"

"I, um..." Malia bit her lip, thinking.

_The best liars stick close to the truth._

_But I can't lie to him!_

_Then just don't tell the whole truth, Mal! You have to say **something!**_

"I've got a job to run and do. Uh, Guild stuff. I'm gonna be gone all night, but I should be back in the morning."

Alistair studied her for a few moments. "Uh, okay," he said finally. "Yeah, I mean, sure. Guild stuff, absolutely. Just, um...be careful, yeah?"

She smiled. "Always am. See you in the morning."

"Yeah...see you."

Malia turned away, feeling her cheeks burning. Divines above, why was she blushing? She felt like a naive teenager wrestling with a fleeting crush. She took the stairs two at a time and ducked out the back door. The cool night air was like a kiss to her heated skin. She blew out her cheeks and tried to clear her head. She tied her hair back and toed her boots off. Shoes weren't the greatest idea when it came to swimming.

Off in the distance, Goldenglow Estate could be spotted by the lighted paths along the tiny chain of islands. Malia set her boots on the edge of the dock and paused. She looked up at the glittering night sky. The valkyries were flying in gold and orange, perfect for the autumnal season. She smiled. "Pretty big night, right Dad?" she said aloud. "Goldenglow Estate. Mercer's been sitting on this for a while. Mind holding my hand through it?" She chuckled to herself and promptly dove into the water.

"Talos' balls, that's fucking cold!" she gasped when she surfaced. _When I said I wanted to get out of the house, this isn't exactly what I had in mind._ And, Divines above, the last thing she needed was a slaughterfish to come and nibble on her toes. _I'm gonna fucking kill Mercer for this._

By the time she finally got to the little island, she couldn't even _feel_ her toes. Shivering, she managed to call enough magic to dry her clothes and armor and bring warmth back to herself. She sighed in relief and took in her surroundings. She thanked her sensitive ears for giving her an advantage where she would desperately need it.

_Good lord, Mal, calm down,_ she told herself. _You're just breaking in to the most secure bee farm in the world._ She almost laughed. Goldenglow wasn't even a meadery or even a super secret base of any kind. It was a _bee farm._ She was breaking in to a _fucking bee_ _farm._

She found the manhole easily enough. She slid the cover aside and said a quick prayer before jumping right in. The sewers were pitch black. She threw up a small magelight and silently thanked the Divines that there were no skeevers waiting for her.

"Swear on my life, Bryn, if I actually pull this off? You're buying my drinks for a whole _week."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've always had this idea that the Thieves Guild would have like little dormitories instead of the weird setup with all the beds out in the middle of the cistern? A little privacy, please?


	4. Malia Celeste Maivau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair learns more about the woman that opened her home to him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally posted this prematurely on 4/7! Whoops! Here's the actual chapter!

He couldn't sleep.

It wasn't a foreign concept, sleep evading him, but it was _why_ he was restless that was interesting. He barely knew anything about the woman that had opened his home to him, yet he felt strangely worried for her. She had left to find out the status of his armor, was gone for almost an hour, then suddenly disappeared on a job, promising she'd be back by morning.

But what if she didn't come back?

He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. Of course she would be back. By all means, she was a professional. A professional thief. He snickered to himself. Hopefully she more of a professional than Zevran had been a professional assassin. He often thought about the day he and his closest friend met, how a bizarre turn of events turned an assassin into an ally. The momentary amusement soured as he was reminded that he would most likely never see him again.

_Come on, Alistair, don't be like that,_ he pushed himself.

He found his shirt, slipped it on, and made his way upstairs. The fireplace still held warm embers, so he placed a few logs on them to get it restarted. He watched it until flames licked up the wood. _Oh, what to do, what to do?_ he sighed inwardly. Malia had said something about playing cards, but he didn't want to snoop around her stuff to find a deck. He glanced around. She had two bookcases in the other room. He could start there.

Malia had _tons_ of books. Short books, tall books, thick books, and skinny books. He surmised she was well educated. He turned his head to the side to read some of the titles. _A Dream of Sovngarde. A Hypothetical Treachery. A Tragedy in Black._ She had all seven volumes of _A Dance in Fire,_ whatever that was. The thickness of them led him to believe they were history books.

_An Explorer's Guide to Skyrim_ stood out to him. He slid it from its shelf and paged through until he found a table of contents. The book covered cities, wildlife, culture, and Stones of Fate. Curious, Alistair turned to the pages regarding the last section.

_"If you are of a mind to see Skyrim for yourself, I recommend beginning your adventure as I did, by seeking out Stones of Fate. No doubt you are taken aback by the name, as I once was. The provincials and village folk have all manner of dark tales about these ancient monuments. Stories of necromantic rituals and fell spirits, of great and terrible powers conferred on any who dare to touch them."_

_Maker's breath,_ he thought to himself. _Do these really exist? Is there really a power tied to these stones?_

_"For example, the Lady Stone reportedly gives the subject experience a increase in vitality. The Guardian stones, which include the Warrior, Thief, and Mage stone, seem to increase the subject's ability to retain skills pertaining to whichever stone they choose."_

_"However, it seems to follow that only one stone can be utilized at a time. After a power is granted from a new stone, the previous advantages from the former stone is now null and void. Thus choosing stones has become a sort of 'pro-con' decision."_

Alistair made a mental note to ask Malia about the Stones of Fate when she returned. He turned to the cities section, curious about the one he was currently staying in. Immediately, content about the Thieves Guild was as prominent as content about the city itself. Scanning through it, he found that most of it was speculation. Plenty of speculation regarding nobles dealing with the Guild, jarls dealing with the Guild, and even the Guild dealing with the Dark Brotherhood.

He briefly wondered what kind of dealings Malia specialized in. Breaking and entering? Pickpocketing? Maybe high-stakes heists? He glanced at her dual swords resting against the wall beside her bed. He noticed they were within arms reach as well. He did the same, a habit he had picked up from the Blight. She was obviously an experienced enough fighter to help save him, and a good enough thief to have a reputation in her guild. She couldn't be older than thirty, so he couldn't help but wonder how long she had been in the business.

He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, but he was afraid of crossing any lines he might be unaware of. He wanted to ask her about being a thief, but was she bound to a form of confidentiality like he was with the Wardens? Given how Brynjolf and her had up and said they were a part of the Thieves Guild, but Malia had been hesitant before regarding her line of work.

Most of all, he wanted to know _her._ Who was Malia beyond a respected thief? She obviously loved books, Brynjolf had mentioned she loved playing Liar's Dice, and she was kind. More kind than almost anyone he had ever met. She had a smile that warmed him to his very core every time it was directed at him. She was a mage, but he was under the assumption that mages in her world were vastly different than the ones in his world.

The back door exploded open, almost scaring him out of his skin. Malia stood slouched against the hard wood, grinning madly. She thrust her fists in the air and let out a ear-splitting whoop. She spotted him and immediately froze. "I had no idea you were awake," she whispered, a hand moving up to cover her mouth as she kept smiling. "Sorry."

Alistair shook his head. "No worries," he promised. "I was just admiring your collection here." He gestured to the bookcases.

"My collection," she echoed breathily, shaking her head. "My father loved books. Got his hands on as many as he could find. Obviously when I left Elsweyr I couldn't take them all." She shrugged and waved a passive hand. "I carried on the habit, I suppose." She shook her head. "Sorry, I'm getting off on a tangent." She closed the door behind her and moved to a dresser, rooting through the drawers. Alistair noticed that she was soaking wet from head to toe.

"Sorry, but I really gotta get out of this," she muttered, throwing off her armor. She kept her underclothes on (thank the Maker) and wrapped herself in a thick towel, using a second to dry her hair. "A tip for living in the Rift..." She bent at the waist and wrapped the towel in her hair, throwing the tail down her back when she straightened up. "Don't go swimming in the lake this time of year. It's practically ice cold."

Alistair chuckled. "Duly noted."

Malia dug around inside her leather armor until she pulled out a large envelope that had been folded in half and shoved in a pocket. It too was soaking wet. She frowned at it for a moment before she held it out in both hands. The paper levitated a few inches above her hands and dried within a few seconds. "Much better," she said. "I'm sorry about this, but I've gotta get this to Brynjolf as soon as possible. She tossed the towels aside and darted to her wardrobe, pulling out a long leather jacket that was dyed a deep bronze.

"I'll be back in a flash, okay?" She gave him a reassuring squeeze to his bicep and was out the door before he could blink twice.

Alistair could hear Zevran's voice in his head as if the man himself was standing right next to him.

_What an extraordinary woman!_ he would say. _And quite cute, no?_

\---

"Guess who just nailed the Goldenglow job?" Malia squealed with laughter as Brynjolf ducked down to pick her up at the waist and spin her.

"Our little silver gutter rat, is who!" He laughed heartily and set her down. "Oh, lass, you are _incredible!"_

She shoved the large envelope in his hands and the rush returned to her veins. "So, you know me, I really had to look at these papers, and you won't believe this, but Aringoth _sold_ Goldenglow Estate. Okay, we've dealt with this guy in the past and he's _directly_ under Maven's thumb so it doesn't really make sense for him-"

_"Lass!"_ Brynjolf's outburst halted her rambling. He put his hands on her arms and squeezed. "Breathe, lass, okay?" He chuckled. "Breathe." She blew into his hair, dropping a few loose strands in front of his face. He rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "Mature. Very mature."

"Thank you."

"He really sold the estate?" She nodded. Brynjolf put his hands on his hips and sighed loudly. "He has no idea the extent of Maven's fury when she's been cut out of a deal, but I'm certain he'll find out soon enough." He looked down at the sale papers and frowned. "If only this parchment had the buyer's name instead of this odd symbol..." He turned it toward her. "And idea what that might be?"

"Never, not even when I was working with Vas." She paused. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Blast, I forgot to tell you. He went back to Solstheim to fix things up on Glover's end. Quick there-and-back trip, he'll be back in no time." He looked at the papers again. "I'll check my sources and speak to Mercer about the symbol." A troubled look settled in his features. "Keep a level head, lass. Maven's been looking for a thief with your particular qualities. Don't be surprised if she calls for you within the next couple of days, especially after you've pulled off this little stunt." He gave her a smirk. "But for now, go spend some more time with your man."

Malia's face burned as red as Brynjolf's hair. She jabbed him harshly in his side, and he doubled over and groaned. "He's _not_ my man, Bryn!" she hissed. "I'm just a gutter rat letting him stay in my house while he gets a grip on his new reality, got it?"

He straightened up, rubbing his side. "Whatever you say, lass. I'll stop by tomorrow and relay whatever Mercer says." Before she could pull away in time, he jerked her in close to squeeze her tightly. "I'm glad everything went well," he said in a rare tender tone, "and I'm glad you made it back safe." He gave her a quick peck to her forehead and let her pull away, chuckling when she made a point to rub the spot. "Take care, lass."

"Yeah, you too, Bryn," she returned, shooting him a genuine smile. "You're staying for dinner tomorrow, I hope you know." He just rolled his eyes and walked off towards Mercer's vacant desk. Malia let out a huge sigh of relief and started on the way home by climbing the ladder to the secret entrance. Climbing the stairs and making sure the coffin had slid closed behind her, she stepped out into the fresh air, looking up at the rosy sky as the sun began its climb over the mountains.

Exhaustion seeped into her bones as she made her way out of the temple gardens and crossed the market to get to her house. Alistair was sitting at the little kitchen table when she walked through the front door, hands clasped together in front of him.

"Tell me you weren't waiting up for me," Malia teased in a tired voice.

He shrugged and chuckled nervously. "You stumbled in her, soaking wet, and sprinted out of here faster than a spooked animal," he recalled. "Forgive me if I had a hint of worry."

She smirked. "Sorry, I'm just used to being the one to look after people." She shed her jacket and draped it over the chair opposite of him. "After my father passed, Vas and Bryn filled that void over years." She smirked. "Guess they were so good at it I just had to pass on what they taught me."

Alistair seemed to hesitate before he asked, "What happened to your father?"

"He got sick," she answered simply. "Fever took him within the week. I was the only one to take care of him, the only one to say goodbye."

"Your mother...?"

"I never knew her. She died giving birth to me" She smiled down at her hands. "I was named after her. Her name was Malalina, so they changed it a little into Malia. Malia Celeste Maivau."

"Maivau?"

"Yeah, it was my father's name. His family had money, my mother's didn't, but he married her anyway. They moved to the coast of Elsweyr and opened up a tailor shop." She looked at him and laughed. "Think of it! I'm just the daughter of tailors, and I just pulled the biggest heist of the decade!"

"Oh, you think that's colorful?" Alistair challenged. "Some of the Wardens I was friends with had _way_ better backgrounds than that! One was a spirit living in a corpse, one was an apostate mage with a cat addiction, one was an elf with a history of murder, and a dwarf that was legally dead."

"You have dwarves in your world?"

"You don't?"

Malia crossed her arms. "Not anymore, unfortunately, but they left plenty of their underground cities and ruins behind." She grinned. "But my world has cat and lizard men."

Alistair laughed. "I'll have to give you that one," he admitted. "Any other odd races?"

"Orcs. Oh, and dark elves have a kind of ashy skin."

"So...what are you?"

She gestured to her toned skin and pointed ears. "Bosmer. Wood elf." Her hand drifted over her mouth as she let out a massive yawn. "They moved to Elsweyr to open up their own little shop. They were actually married for about ten years before I was born. Dad always said I was a lucky baby, considering how hard it was for them to conceive."

"I never really knew my mother, either," Alistair added. "But I...I got the chance to finally meet her only a short time ago."

Malia cocked her head. "She didn't raise you?"

Alistair chuckled nervously and rubbed his hands together. "I'm...not sure you'd want to know that much about me. You might turn me out," he joked.

"Alistair. I'm literally a thief. If anyone should be hating anyone, you should hate me."

"But you're so kind and funny and-"

"And you're the same!" she interrupted. She offered a smile. "I promise I won't turn you out. But you don't have to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable."

The curves of Alistair's ears went pink. "I...alright." He took a deep breath. "My mother gave me up when I was still a baby, trusted a man named Duncan to look after me. They were Grey Wardens together. Duncan eventually took me to live with my sort-of uncle because he had responsibilities to the Wardens and for _years_ I was lied to about who my mother was. I was told she had been a simple castle maid who caught the king's eye one fateful day."

Malia's jaw dropped and she covered her mouth again. "You're kidding!" she gasped. She couldn't help but grin wildly. "So your mother was a Grey Warden, and your father was the king of your country?" He smiled weakly and nodded. "Wow. You were right. Wardens have _way_ cooler backstories than thieves."

Once he saw that she wasn't at all put off by his history, Alistair told her the rest of the story. How he was eventually told who his father was, how he was sent away to a monastery, and how Duncan eventually re-entered his life to recruit him for the Grey Wardens.

"Best day of my life," he declared almost wistfully.

"I can imagine," she mused. "It must have been nice to have him back in your life."

"Not for very long, unfortunately," he said almost in a whisper. He cleared his throat. "He, uh, died during the Blight defending the king. My step-brother, actually. He was killed, too."

"I'm so sorry, Alistair." She hesitated, but placed her hand on the table, palm up. Alistair glanced between it and her face, seemingly searching for any form of deceit. He reached out and placed his hand in hers. She squeezed tightly. "For what it's worth, I think you're an incredible individual who's taken all the bad things and used them to be the best man you can be."

The room went more silent than she would have ever liked to experience. It made her retract her hand and try and pass it off with a soft laugh. "Sorry, that probably made no sense. I'm a little sleep deprived." She got up abruptly and ran her hands through her hair. "I'm just gonna go to bed for a little bit."

"Malia."

But she had already crossed the threshold into her bedroom and was pulling on the sliding doors for privacy. "Night, Alistair." She caught herself. "Or, morning, I suppose..." Before she could embarrass herself more, she shut the doors completely and pressed her back to them.

"Stupid," she chided herself quietly. She covered her eyes with her hands and walked blindly over to her bed and flopped straight down onto the mattress. "Stupid, blind idiot." She rolled over on her back and stretched her arms out above her head. "Stop it, Mal, just stop it."

She needed to leave. She needed to run or maybe even sprint and her face was burning up. Had she ever blushed so hard? Why was her heart racing so fast it actually hurt? Why was she breathing so fast? She sat up, groaning as the world caught up a half second later and made her dizzy. She staggered to her feet and out the back door. She wasn't sure how she got down the stairs, but the next thing she knew she was splashing cold lake water on her face.

And then...

_And then..._

She had her pants rolled up and her feet in the water and her shoulder resting against the railing of the stairs.

Blue and green and purple valkyries were flying between the stars and the lake, creating a million and one facets to reflect every inch of the world around her. Her heart had calmed and her mind was quiet, but she couldn't quite remember how she'd gotten to that point. The moons had moved enough across the night sky enough to make her wonder if she'd fallen asleep. But she could still feel her feet despite the cold, so that had been done recently.

"Bryn," she suddenly said to herself. "Yeah, why not?"

A short time later, she was knocking insistently at his door. He'd often mentioned how he wouldn't know what to do with a house if he bought one, so he stayed down in the cistern with the rest of the "houseless" Guild members, as he called them. There was no answer after a few minutes.

"Bryn, it's me," Malia said, knocking again. "Listen, it's urgent, I really need to talk to you." When she heard rustling within, she stepped back and waited until he opened the door. His furiously red hair was in almost complete disarray and he squinted at her in the low light.

"Lass?" he mumbled, dragging a hand down his face. "Holy Divines above, what time is it?"

"I don't know," she replied. "Morning, I'd guess. Very, very morning. But I need to talk to you before I absolutely lose it, so can I come in?"

He nodded without hesitation and pushed the door open all the way. Malia liked Brynjolf's room. Since he'd lived in it for so long, it was perfectly homey. Worn rugs covered the stone floor. His desk was covered in a respectable layer of paperwork, but it was the shelves above the desk that she loved the most.

Years ago, when Malia was still a smuggler with Dro'Vasdar, she would collect small trinkets from places they'd been. A vial of ash and shards of stalhrim from Solstheim. A piece of petrified wood from Black Marsh. She'd met Brynjolf on a job when she was fifteen, four years after her father had died. He'd been thinner, a little quieter, but not nearly as handsome as he'd grown to be.

_"Beautiful bit right there, lass,"_ were the first words he had said to her, gesturing to her necklace resting over her shirt. A pendant crafted by a redguard jeweler that he'd given to her as a gift as a thank you for good business. It was a symbol that represented the old Yokudan spirit of the air, similar to Kynareth among the Divines.

_"Thanks,"_ she'd replied. She remembered not being terribly interested in talking to him, given that she was simply meant to observe as Vas conducted their business with Mercer. _"Another memento to record the life of a smuggler-in-training."_

He'd laughed at that. _"Smuggler-in-training,"_ he'd sighed, smiling. _"That's a good one, lass. So you keep things to remember where you've been?"_ She'd nodded. _"I've always wanted a sand dollar to keep for good luck? Mind grabbing one for me if you ever find yourself looking at one?"_

That's where their friendship had taken root. Over a pendant from Hammerfell and a sand dollar yet to be acquired. The shelves above Brynjolf's desk were crammed with souvenirs from all over Tamriel. Each and every one had a story, from a Stone of Barenziah she'd swiped from a drunk of an alchemist to an arrowhead she'd been shot in the leg with in a hunting accident in Valenwood.

Malia stole his pillow and sat cross-legged at the foot of his bed, clutching it to her chest. Brynjolf sat on the edge, watching her carefully. "I'm in deep shit, Bryn," she declared plainly, "and I think I might actually just die of embarrassment if I don't get some good advice right now."

"Alright, lass, just calm down, okay?" He moved further on the bed and copied her position. "What happened?"

"What's _happening,"_ she corrected him. "The other night, you called me out on me thinking Alistair's handsome. I won't deny that. In fact, he's practically flawless, physically speaking." She shook her head. "He's a good person, Bryn. A genuinely good man who's put his life on the line for what's right." She looked up at him, but her closest friend was simply waiting for her to continue. "I like him, Bryn. I mean I _really_ like him." She opened her mouth to say more, but nothing came out.

"So, what's wrong?" he asked tentatively.

"I shouldn't like him!" she exclaimed. "Bryn, take a good long look at me. I'm a thief, a smuggler, and I don't even know how many people I've killed. I lie and sneak for a living. I am _not_ a good person. In personality? Maybe, but in morals?" She shook her head. "Not a chance."

Brynjolf didn't protest right away, and that gave her comfort. Bryn wasn't a man to act without thinking things through fully. He scratched his stubbled jaw and frowned into the middle distance. "You make complete sense. You know that, right?" She shrugged. "If the lad's telling the truth, than he knows barely a whisper of our world, of its people." She nodded. "Look at me, lass."

She complied, meeting his bright green eyes with her own muddy brown. "Let me ask you a question, and I expect the truth, alright, lass?" She nodded. "Do you think, if you were to take that leap of faith, that you actually have a chance with the man?"

_I really hope so,_ she almost blurted out.

Did she, though?

_Who the fuck am I trying to fool?_ she demanded of herself. _Alistair belongs in his own world, with his own people, back serving as the Warden-Constable of Ferelden, not some high grade sword for hire he could be in Skyrim. I shouldn't be admiring him, I shouldn't be crushing on him, I should be thinking of ways to help him get back home!_

"Maybe I do," she answered honestly. "I'd love nothing more than to try. But..." She sighed heavily. "As much as I enjoy his company, he deserves a chance at getting back home, yes?"

Brynjolf smirked ever so slightly. "I know I'd want to take that chance, lass." He leaned forward and braced his hands on her knees. "Am I saying to kick him out of your house so you don't have to think about all this? Absolutely not. I'm encouraging you to be happy that he came into your life, that he can be the most extraordinary friend you'll ever have."

Malia nodded slowly, mulling his words over. He was right. Alistair was probably the most extraordinary person she'd ever meet, _period._ A man from another world. Who else could say they'd met someone like him? She exhaled slowly. "Thanks, Bryn," she hummed. "Divines above, that was certainly an interesting few hours of internal crisis."

He chuckled at the easiness in her words. "Glad I could help, lass."

"I should probably take him to the College of Winterhold before Maven calls in her favor. If she does pick me, I'd like to have a clear head for whatever problem of hers I'll undoubtedly have to take care of."

Brynjolf laughed fully. "Careful she doesn't hear you, lass, otherwise your head will decorate her front door."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've kinda reimagined Honeyside a little so Alistair doesn't have to like walk across the main bedroom to get downstairs


	5. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malia gets her priorities straight and focuses on finding a way to send Alistair home, if there is one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight honeys who's ready for some more angst?
> 
> Also heads up this chapter is pretty low-key. I wanted to put more in it for some more action but honestly then it would be way too long. I'm starting immediately on the next chapter so hopefully it'll be out soon <3

"You have the best gambling luck of anyone I've ever met," Alistair chuckled as they returned to Honeyside after more than a few rounds of Liar's Dice at the Bee and Barb with Brynjolf, Sapphire, Delvin, and Rune.

"That was _hardly_ luck," she returned, undoing her hair from its braids and combing it loose with her fingers. "Sapphire and I know Delvin uses a few weighted dice from time to time, so we made a deal with Rune. He was watching Brynjolf's dice, Sapphire was watching Delvin's, and together we took all their gold," she finished brightly, holding up her heavier coin purse for emphasis.

Alistair ginned. "Glad I was only your partner. I can't imagine what I would've lost if I actually _had_ money to lose."

"Thieves only gamble with thieves. Otherwise it would be both too boring, and too easy." She tapped her temple with her forefinger and quickly made a fire to get some warmth back into the house. "Some advice? Never bet against thieves, even if you _know_ you can outplay them."

"I'll keep that in mind." He shed his surcoat and draped it over what Malia was beginning to consider _his_ chair. "I'll see you in the morning, yeah?"

"Oh!" Malia bounced to her feet and jumped between him and the closed sliding doors. "Before you go to bed..." She beamed up at him. "I have a little surprise for you."

He raised an eyebrow. "A surprise? Dunno if I can handle anything major."

"Then think of it as a gift. Close your eyes." He did as she said, even placing a hand over his eyes as well. She opened the sliding doors and stifled a cry of joy at the sight of Alistair's armor on one of her stands, completely repaired. The slight warping in the metal was the only sign that it had been torn and mended. It didn't look as grand without the accompanying coat, but she still gazed at it in wonder.

She turned to face Alistair again. "Alright. Open them."

He dropped his hand and blinked a few times, taking in the sight before him. His features went absolutely neutral as he stared. Malia clasped her hands behind her back and waited patiently. His hands flexed and relaxed several times at his sides. "Is that...?" Malia suppressed most of her sly smile and watched him approach the armor stand. He reached out and rested the pads of his fingers on the griffons that adorned the cuirass. "It's fixed," he breathed.

"Balimund's the best of the best," she replied, "even when he's working with a metal this world's never seen."

_"Andraste's bloody ashes,"_ was all she heard before she was being crushed against his chest. She yelped quietly, her slightly inebriated state blinding most of her senses. But she was trapped in Alistair's scent. He smelled like clean sweat and early morning air with just a hint of the whiskey they'd shared earlier. In a flash his lips were on her cheek and he was looking down at her. "Thank you, Malia, really."

She could feel her blush reaching up to her hairline. "Uh, sure, of course," she returned. "Can't let you walk around a dangerous province unprotected."

He turned back to his armor, knocking his knuckles on one of the pauldron. "Couldn't even tell you how many times this armor saved my arse," he sighed contentedly. "'Course I've had to get it replaced a few times, but we had a hard time finding decent sets back during the Blight."

"I never got a full set until I joined the Guild. When I was smuggling, I only wore a half-plate that I'm pretty sure was more fashionable than functional, but it blocked a few good punches. And I didn't even learn to fight with swords until then as well."

"I've had four swords in my life. The one the Wardens gave me, a replacement one after it got incinerated by a dragon, a sleek blade made from a meteorite, and the one I have now."

"The one with the rose on it?" He nodded. "Why a rose?" she asked. "Wouldn't a skull have been manlier?"

"It's uh...sentimental." He grinned as if remembering something fondly. "Guess it means more now, since I'll probably...you know...not make it home in time for dinner."

Malia's chest tightened at the grief in his voice. "About that..." she segued nervously. "I had an idea that maybe we could look more into that. Getting you home." Alistair stared at her. "I thought that we might be able to find someone at the College of Winterhold who might be able to help you." At his confused look, she scrambled to explain further. "We've got a fence way up there so I've been around the mages there and they're crazy enough to look into it."

"They'd believe me?"

"With minimal hesitation," she assured him. "If the world believes in the Daedra and their planes, then convincing a few mages with an itch for excitement that you're from another world will be easy."

Alistair frowned. "What are..." He shook his head. "What's a Daedra?"

Malia couldn't help but smirk. "I'll tell you tomorrow. It's been a long day and night."

"Oh!" Alistair rubbed at the back of his neck. "Right, I mean...yeah, that sounds good."

Malia helped him move his armor and the stand to the room downstairs so it wouldn't block the doorway. She was hesitant to push the idea of going to the College, but knowing that Maven had her eye out for a thief of her expertise had her on edge. She never liked Maven. Maven saw the world as a business, in numbers and profit, giving no regard to the people she crushed under her boot to maintain her status. Malia always tried to stay out of her dealings, her partnership with the Guild.

"I know you have a lot to think about, Alistair, but I..." The words caught in her throat. "I might be pulled out for a job soon, and because of that, I'm kinda..." She huffed indignantly. Why couldn't she just _ask_ him?

"Malia?"

"Just...let me know about the College, okay? Let me know when you want to go. I don't want the Guild blaming you for taking up my time or anything." She shook her hands in front of her. "No pressure, really! I just..." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "I'm just gonna go to bed."

Alistair opened his mouth as if to say something, but clicked it shut, nodding once. Malia tried her best not to run up the stairs to the safety to her room. She cursed herself a thousand times for being...

"Emotionally inept," she chuckled to herself. For all her years of carefully constructed relationships with people like Dro'Vasdar, Brynjolf, and even people like Delvin and Vex and Sapphire and Balimund. She was charismatic, but it was hard for her to make friends. She barely knew anyone outside of Riften that wasn't a fence.

After all, thieves didn't make the best company to keep outside of their own.

She went to her wardrobe and opened the doors wide. She pulled down an extra blanket from the top shelf and then crouched down to feel along the bottom. The lower right hand corner had a ring that she could flip up and pull, revealing a hidden compartment she'd put there herself. She reached in and pulled out a small box with rough carvings decorating it. She sat on the edge of her bed and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and setting the box across her legs.

Carved on the top was a whale painted blue. Her father had made if for her after she'd asked for a lockbox for her tenth birthday. She hadn't exactly expected such a horribly carved box from her very-much-not-a-wood-carver father. Still, he loved it and kept it for years. Part of it was singed from a rouge fire spell from a mage in Cyrodiil, but it had otherwise remained undamaged.

She opened the top and grabbed what was inside: an astrolabe.

She pushed one of the rings absentmindedly, remembering her father. Her family were wood elves living in Elsweyr, but the town they had lived in was a melting pot of people. With the constant traffic of being a port, she'd seen them in all shapes, sizes, and colors before she could even talk in complete sentences.

She used to spend hours talking to a particular sailor by the name of Daz. He wasn't a pirate, but a smuggler like Vas. He captained a single brigantine with his son as his first mate. He did plenty of honest jobs to maintain a good image, but she was always wondering what he was carting around. He was a dear friend of her father's, and saw him often.

He'd gifted her the astrolabe after her father had died, and taught her how to use it.

_"I hardly knew my father,"_ he'd told her. _"He perished in a horrible storm when I was a boy. He was a more honest man than I, you see, and made his fortune with honest work. But my grandfather was luckily like me, and it was his money that saved me and my mother. He'd given me that astrolabe after my father passed and he told me, 'Daz, listen to me, boy. I'm a man of few promises, but I promise that this will lead you back to your father one day.'"_

_"I found my father again in yours, little bird. I saw him in the way your father cared for you, how he loved you no matter how much work he had or how hard it took to take care of you by himself. He loved you effortlessly and infinitely."_

She hadn't seen Daz in years. Even when she was smuggling, there weren't a lot of opportunities to return to her home. They kept in contact, but their letters were few and far. She hadn't heard from him since late springtime. She hoped she'd have a few weeks of downtime in the winter to visit Elsweyr.

_That's what you said last year,_ she reminded herself. _And the year before that, and you promised yourself you'd go down for the summer solstice the year before that..._

She shook her head and set the box and astrolabe aside so she could find her sleeping clothes and burrow her way beneath her blankets. She waved her hand and extinguished all the candles except the one on her bedside table. She reached for the astrolabe and held it up to the low light. Daz may have gifted it to her, but she never felt closer to her father than when she was holding it.

Blowing out the candle, she tucked herself on her back and clutched the instrument to her chest. Hoping her thoughts would calm with the night like the lake did.

\---

Hofgrir cursed the second he saw Malia. "Uh-oh," she chuckled. Her horse, Sasha, sputtered at her as she approached him. "Let me guess? You're continuing to cause trouble for the stable master?"

"Damn right!" the man in question confirmed. "Kicked me square in my arse when I was doing work on his feet."

"Did you forget to give him half an apple when you started on it?" Hofgrir mumbled. "I keep telling you, he may be spoiled, but he'll behave once he gets what he wants."

"All that demon wants is my head removed from my shoulders."

Malia laughed and rubbed Sasha's nose. "You would if you could, wouldn't you Sasha?" He flicked his lips against her moving fingers and jerked his head slightly.

"You riding today with that lad from the woods?"

"His name is Alistair, and no I'm not," she quickly replied. "I actually just came out here to get some time to myself." Hofgrir leaned against the door of Sasha's stall and crossed his arms over his chest, smirking knowingly. "What's that look for?"

"Lad driving you mad?" he asked.

"Hardly. I simply needed time to think."

"About..?"

She huffed quietly. "The College of Winterhold," she answered honestly. "First off, I'm not terribly excited to travel there with the weather turning as cold as it is. Second, I'm not a fan of passing through Windhelm." She gestured to her ears and somewhat tanner complexion than most elves. "Thirdly, it wouldn't sit well with me if I just abandoned Alistair at the College."

"So you _are_ thinking about him!" Malia scowled and waved her hand at the ground. A blue bolt of electricity raced through the grass until it connected with Hofgrir and shot up his leg. He yelped in pain and jumped away. "Alright, alright! Sensitive topic! I'll stop!"

"Just a gentle reminder of who I am," she warned him.

"Duly noted," he grumbled. "Can I do anything for you, Malia? Or are you just here for your beastie?"

"The beastie."

"I'll leave you too it, then."

Finally alone with her thoughts, she pulled out a biscuit from a pouch on her belt and offered it to Sasha with a flat hand. He snarfed it down and played with the small braid of her hair, almost flicking it with his upper lip. She smirked halfheartedly and rubbed his nose. She rummaged around the little cabinet outside the stall and brought the brush out. Sasha spotted it and flashed his teeth at her.

She talked to him as she brushed him down. Talked to him in Ta'agra, which she spoke as well as Common, thanks to being raised in Elsweyr. At least no one could eavesdrop on her when she poured her heart and soul out to her horse. It was incredibly rare to find someone who spoke the language of the khajiit outside of the desert province. Vas had been a brilliant, yet strict teacher, constantly reminding her of grammar and, later, her _horrid_ penmanship.

_"He's quite an interesting man, Sash. And from another world, to boot! He's smart, kind, funny, and I'm really gonna miss him. I'll admit that. I'm praying to the Nine that the Arch-Mage can find a way to send him home. He belongs there, he belongs with people who love him and whom he loves."_ She shook her head. _"I can't give him that."_

Sasha's tail came around and whipped her arm lightly. _"Have something to say, do you?"_ Sasha simply craned his head back to look at her, one ear flicking away a fly. _"Doubt my words? Shall I remind you of what I am?"_ She shook her head. It wouldn't do her any good to dwell on thoughts already put to rest.

Alistair had said that he wanted to leave for the College as soon as possible, so that meant that tomorrow, they'd be on their way to Windhelm. She groaned and rested her forehead on Sasha's side. She _hated_ Windhelm. Although she wasn't an altmer, nor was she harbor much love for the empire, she was still an elf from outside of Skyrim. That was plenty of reason for Stormcloak irrationals to try and break her, physically or mentally.

_"Silla!"_

Malia perked up at the sound of her nickname. She pressed a kiss to Sasha's nose and ran out of the stable, greeted by the sight of the best way to cheer her up. "Kharjo!"she exclaimed, jumping into the familiar khajiit's arms and practically squealing with joy as he lifted her effortlessly. "Of all the people I really needed to see, you're one of them!"

"Then this one is happy to perform such a service," he chuckled, setting her down. The rest of the caravan were just down the road. "Perhaps I can, as you say, sweeten the deal?" Her pointed to them.

Malia's jaw dropped at the sight of her grandfather walking in tune with Ahkari. Unable to stop herself, she took off running. At the last possible second, he managed to spot her in time to catch her in his arms. "I am _so_ glad you're back!" she shouted over his shoulder.

"Mercy, what's gotten into you, Mal?" He set her down and frowned. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and brushed away tears she hadn't even noticed had fallen. "Oh, _silla,_ what has you like this?"

She had no mother, she had no father, she didn't even have Daz, but she _did_ have Vas.

"We have a lot to talk about," she hinted, "and very little time to do so."

\---

"I'm worried there's something wrong with the lass."

Delvin raised his eyebrow at Brynjolf from across the table. "You think so?" he amused him.

Brynjolf frowned slightly and tossed a bottle cork at him. "Aye, I do, and I'm worried."

"And how would you know such a thing, Brynjolf?"

"For the millionth time, Delvin, they're not sleeping together!" Vekel yelled from behind the bar. The Ragged Flagon rumbled with laughter, and at least Delvin had enough grace to nod in admission.

"Be that as it may, the question still remains, don't it?"

Brynjolf sat back and crossed his leg over his knee. "I'm not sure how to put it, to be honest. She's quieter than normal. Timid."

"Of all the words I'd use to describe Mal, 'timid' isn't one of them."

"That's his point, jackass," Vex said as she passed the table.

"Oi!" Delvin protested. "You of all people know I'm hardly the leading expert on women!"

"Very true!" She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Bryn, if you're so damn worried about your girl, why don't you try talking to _her_ about it?"

Brynjolf clenched his jaw. "I _have,"_ he almost growled. He spread his hands. "There's something more to it, I swear. Damn, have _either_ of you noticed anything at all? We're talking about _Malia_ for gods' sake!"

"You know her best," Vex replied. "You're family to her. I doubt any of us could give you any advice you haven't already thought of."

_That_ shut his mouth. He started grinding his teeth absentmindedly. He scratched at his stubble. Should he talk to Malia again? Was there more than the little crush she had on Alistair? He scrunched his nose. _Nothing happened between them, right? She would've told me, right?_

"Oi, Bryn!" Delvin snapped. "Do yourself a favor and just go talk to her some more. Your pretty face ain't doin' no one service down here."

Brynjolf mocked the look Delvin was giving him. He got to his feet and headed through the false cabinet. He hadn't seen the lass since her midnight talk with him. He felt a little dull at the thought that Malia might not have felt comfortable enough with him to share the whole truth. He grumbled about it to himself the whole walk across the city to Honeyside. He tapped out his usual rhythm on the door and waited for her voice. Instead he nearly jumped out of his skin when the door opened and revealed the lad she was looking after.

"Alistair," he said, surprised. "Where's Malia?"

He took a second to give Alistair a once-over. The lad was definitely taller than him, but only by a couple of inches. He looked innocent enough, but he still had a tiny shred of doubt. After Vas, he was the most protective of Malia.

"Down at the stables," he said. "She said she wanted to go for a ride since it's been a nice day."

Brynjolf hummed. He let the lad noticed he'd paused as well before he said, "Well, don't suppose you'd be bothered by a friend waiting for her to come back, would you?"

Alistair stared for a second. "Yeah, yeah of course," he said, opening the door all the way. "Not like it's my house anyway."

Brnjolf stepped past him and took a seat at the little table in her kitchen. "A ride didn't suit you, lad?" he asked politely. He watched him hesitate for a moment before sitting down across from him.

"No, I like to ride as much as Malia says she does." He shrugged. "Thought I'd give her some time of her own. I'm actually nervous about walking around alone. Afraid I'll stir up trouble or something." He smirked. "But I do have to say that our horses are amazing, just like the ones back where I'm from."

"Oh, aye? You mean they're stubborn as mules and sound like thunder coming down the roads?"

Alistair laughed. "And the fact that they're as sturdy as stone like a classic Ferelden Forder. Malia's horse definitely has a strong personality."

"Sasha, that demon with horseshoes?" Brynjolf scoffed. "Yeah, I've had more than a few 'encounters' with him. Kicked me in the balls more than once, the bastard. I'd bet money that the bastard aims down there on purpose!" They shared a laugh. "That horse will listen to nobody but her."

"He was pining his ears, so I kept my distance. Normally horses tend to like me."

"You good with them?"

"I grew up with them. Spent a lot of nights in kennels and stables back when I was a kid."

"Oh, the bastard child is a street urchin?"

Alistair visibly weighed the label. "More like a royal bastard pretending to be an urchin in a castle."

Brynjolf mulled over what he heard, waiting for him to chuckle and admit that he was joking. "Oh, you're serious?" he said when that failed to happen. "Royal bastard and the whole bit?" He nodded. "Divines above, that's certainly something you left out of your little explanation a couple weeks ago!" he laughed.

"It wouldn't have been fair do dump my luggage on you guys _all_ at once."

_No wonder the lass has a crush on him,_ he thought. _Handsome as a brass doorknob, charming, **and** shunned nobility? That's quite a find._ "Speaking of luggage, have you noticed anything..._off_ with Mal lately? She's a bit gloomy, and I can't figure why." He spotted a ghost of a blush on Alistair's cheeks.

The lad reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "I-uh..." The blush deepened. "I think I make her nervous. I mean, it's understandable. I'm a stranger staying in her home. That would definitely put me on edge."

"Aye, could be. Could also be the Guild breathing down her neck alongside Maven Black-Briar."

"Who?"

"The kingpin of Riften. Or queenpin, if you prefer. She's eyeing the lass for a job, but the two don't particularly get along. Mal doesn't like her-" He laughed. "She says the old bat 'has balls the size of those beady eyes of hers' and doesn't agree with her methods of business. Maven isn't known for showing mercy to people in her way."

"Whatever happened to keeping Guild secrets?" Alistair prodded.

Brynjolf spread his hands. "All of that's common knowledge, lad. The Guild deals in discretion, absolutely, but without it, _and_ people like Maven Black-Briar, this city would have sunk beneath the lake long ago. A mutual business."

"Honor amongst thieves?"

"If that's what suits you." He waved his hand passively. "I stay out from under Maven as much as possible, just like Malia."

"You two seem close," Alistair noted.

"I've known her since she was still a little lass. I was assigned as her mentor when she officially joined the Guild."

"Are you two, like...together?" Alistair flinched in surprise when Brynjolf choked on his own laughter.

"Gods, no!" he gasped. "Everyone and their mother seems to assume we are, despite that." He caught his breath. "The lass and I are too much like family. I'm her honorary older brother and she's my honorary little sister."

"You two are a lot alike."

"Aye, well, we grew up around the same sort of people. Malia was a little more impressionable back when she was a young lass."

The front door swung open, Malia leaning in with it. "S'cuse you, old man, I am _still_ a young lass!" she cried. She closed the door behind her, set her swords aside, and wandered behind him. She bent over and wrapped her arms over chest, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. "I'm _wizened,_ not old."

He chuckled, reaching up to pat her on the head. "There, there, lass, autumn comes for all of us at some point."

Malia let out a exaggerated cry. "I'm _midsummer_ at the latest, you bastard!" She lifted her head up and instead rested her chin down. Her breath tickled his neck. "This comes from the man who can barely jog for ten seconds without needing to stop and take a breather?"

"You're a light little lass, _lass,_ that's hardly fair!"

Alistair's laughter distracted them. "Sorry," he chuckled. "But you two are either the closest 'siblings' I've ever met who weren't related."

"His ancestors didn't even start out on the same _continent_ as mine!" Malia pointed out. She patted her hands on his midsection and straightened up away from him. "Le's just say it's strength versus stamina." She looked at Alistair and gestured to Brynjolf. "But this man _does_ have the biggest biceps of the entire Guild."

_She seems better,_ he noted to himself. _Friendly with the lad, not reserved. Gods above, what in the world did I possibly do? _He tried to shake away his thoughts for now so he didn't appear to be troubled. Alistair had just asked after Sasha.

"Sassy, as per usual," she muttered, rolling her eyes. She disappeared into her room, keeping the door open enough so she could keep talking. "I only brushed him down a little, I didn't ride him anywhere. Don't want him irritated for the trip tomorrow."

"Trip, lass?" Brynjolf echoed, frowning.

"I'm taking 'the lad' to Winterhold. Figured we'd try and find a few mages crazy enough to first believe us, then attempt to possibly rip a hole in the fabric of our world." She poked just her head into view. "You know, the usual routine."

He almost laughed. _The usual routine._ As if _any_ of what she had just said wasn't _un_usual. He rubbed at his stubble and sighed. "Can I talk to you, lass? Very quick, I promise, just some Guild business before you go."

"Sure, come on in." She waved into her room and shot an apologetic look to Alistair. "Two minutes, I promise." Brynjolf got to his feet and followed her into her bedroom, sliding the door closed behind him. "You're lying, Bryn," she said quietly, dragging out a traveling pack from under her bed.

"Aye, lass, I am," he admitted. "But give me a an inch, eh?" He rolled his eyes when she pointedly avoided looking at him. "Look, all I am is worried about you."

"Why?" she almost spat. "Bryn, I'm not a child anymore."

"That may be, but we're still family." His words made her pause. She closed her eyes and sighed. "I'm not mad or upset if there is, in fact, something you're not telling me. Your business is still your own and I'll respect that until I die." He smirked. "Just in case you doubted me."

She shook her head, fighting against a smile. She tossed her pack on her bed and slumped over to him, loosely putting her arms around his middle. She butted her head against his chest and he chuckled. "Jerk," she muttered. "You're like a demon with your dagger, a better thief than I, yet you're as patient and observant as a bloody hawk!" She butted her head again. "It's not fair."

"Aye lass," he chuckled. "But everyone has their skills, and one of my best just happens to be looking after you."

"You and Vas, apparently." She released him and sighed again, this time sounding like relief. "We talked down at the stables."

"He's back?"

"Just returned, yes. He came into town with the caravan. He said something along the same lines." She shrugged. "I don't know, it's just been a mad time lately."

"Don't think I don't know that, lass. You've got plenty on your plate. Looking after the lad, for one. Then Mercer dumped the Goldenglow job in your lap. And now Maven's got her eye on you?" He blew out his cheeks. "That's a lot, lass, and no one faults you for being a little on edge."

"More like a lot on edge." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Thanks, Bryn. You of all people knows the best that I don't react well to needing help."

He bent slightly at the waist until he was at her height and tapped her nose with the tip of his finger. "It's because you were taught not to need help, unfortunately. We're thieves, remember?"

She rolled her eyes, but still smiled at his remark. "I'll buy the first round when I get back, okay? Three days, tops."

"Three days," he echoed. "Take longer than that, and I'm saddling up to come and get you, lass."


	6. Hot and Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malia and Alistair continue to dance around each other as they take a road trip through Windhelm on their way to the mage's college

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS for the Until We Sleep graphic novel, but I always think that Alistair would try and look for his father even if he wasn't the king.

"So...are the Daedra...bad?"

Malia's eyebrows knit together, but she smiled as well. "Yes?" she said uncertainly. "I suppose it depends on the kind of person you are, whose values you might choose to follow. Two of the Daedra tried to invade Tamriel at separate times. Molag Bal used his Dark Anchors to try and drag Nirn into his own realm, Coldharbour."

Alistair's face was a mix of horror and disbelief. "They can do that?"

Malia shrugged. "The College will definitely have _several_ volumes on both the Planemeld _and_ the Oblivion Crisis." She stretched out her back, feeling knots forming in her shoulders. "Just like any history of any kind, there's a thousand varieties to hear and learn about it. But to answer your question, yes, the Daedra can do that. So can Aedra, but they rarely interact with mortals directly in order to ensure their own safety."

"Aren't they gods?"

"Not quite. Revered as, yes, but they're bound to this plane, to Mundus. The theory is that they _can_ be killed, but that it's incredibly difficult...or something." She shook her head and scoffed. "I'm hardly the right person to ask about the deep dark history of Mundus. It's horribly confusing and you could spend _decades_ getting the barest of grasps on it."

Alistair cocked his head to the side and paused. "I supposed," he murmured. "But it's nice to hear you talk about something other than-" He started to count off on his fingers. "Riften, your guild, thieves in general, politics-"

"Alright!" she cried, laughing. "I get it! I'm just a boring thief with an awesome house and a narrow set of skills!"

"Hardly," he rejected firmly. "Listen to you now, telling me all about the 'sort of gods' and the history of this world."

"It's really just better to consider them as such. Most do."

"And you?"

She shrugged again. "In my experience it's the skills one has that will see them safely through life, not the will of some powerful being I've never encountered." She held up a finger. "But it never hurts to throw up a quick prayer when nerves are running a little high."

They laughed. Malia took a deep breath, relishing in the fresh air. She was starting to realize that being away from Riften was doing her good. It was nice to be going somewhere where nobody knew who she was. The birch trees were giving way to the tall sentinel pines that covered much of Skyrim's more temperate lands. She had pointed out earlier that they were slowly descending to the Eastmarch Basin, and that the temperature would eventually rise due to the hot springs and geysers.

"Skyrim has a bit of everything," she had said. "Frozen tundra, dense pine forests, birch forests, mountains, valleys, plains, marshes. The only thing it really doesn't have is a nice warm desert or a sunny beach."

She loved Skyrim almost as much as Elsweyr. She could remember when Vas had taken her under his wing and they had traveled north to Cyrodiil. She was almost speechless about how the golden sands had given way to lush grass and trees with leaves and needles. The ones where she had grown up had strictly been palm trees and other stout tropical plants. She didn't see a pine tree with her own eyes until she was twelve years old.

Her life was torn in two. She wasn't unhappy, but something wasn't right. For over fifteen years she had been committed to a specific lifestyle. _As are most thieves,_ she reminded herself. Nobody really _chose_ to become a thief, it was more of a last resort. It had definitely been hers. No parents, no real idea of how to take care of herself, and no means to earn a living. Dro'Vasdar saved her life, and she was forever thankful for that.

But the further into adult life she got, the more she wanted something different. When Brynjolf confronted her about acting differently, it was more clear than ever. She _loved_ being a thief, and she was _damn_ good at it. And yet there was a teeny tiny part of her that yearned for warm sands and some peace and quiet. Something domestic and honest.

For the moment, she needed to set her thoughts aside for Alistair's sake. He didn't need a basket case at his side in a world he didn't belong in. He needed a friend, someone strong enough to see this through to the end, whatever that would turn out to be.

"Here we go," she said suddenly, pulling Sasha to a halt and swinging out of the saddle. Her back was a little tense, but she smiled when Alistair gave her a confused look. "Come on!" she encouraged. "There's a fallen tree right over there, so the horses can be tied up there while we take a little break."

Alistair dismounted as well. "What's that smell?" he asked, scrunching up his nose.

"Sulfur," she explained, gesturing beyond the treeline that bordered the road. "The hottest springs and geysers have a lot of a mild acid in them and it evaporates with the steam." She laughed at his concerned look. "Don't worry, the smaller ones are completely harmless. Worst they'll do is prune your skin, I promise."

They led their horses over to the log she had mentioned and tied them up. Malia had them take the saddles off as well, knowing that the horses would eventually not enjoy the hot and humid atmosphere of the Eastmarch Basin. Skyrim's horses were as thick in every regard as the people who inhabited the province, especially their fur.

"It's so warm compared to the city," Alistair noted, unbuttoning his blue surcoat to drape it over his saddle.

"The hot springs don't even freeze over completely during the winter." She led him through the underbrush until the soft ground gave way to gritty dirt that crumbled under their boots. The sun was shining brightly above them, adding to the heat of the land. Springs steamed all around them, fissures sputtered out odorous air as well, and the low lying sound of bubbles bursting on the surface of the water was everywhere.

"This is definitely one of my favorite parts about Skyrim," she told him. "Reminds me of home." She unlaced her boots and toed them off, picking them up in one hand. She located her favorite spring. It was deep enough to go over her head, but it had ledges underwater that were perfect to lounge in. She set her boots down and straightened up to start peeling off her clothes.

Alistair cleared his throat quietly. "Aren't we just gonna...dip our toes in?" he asked. Looking back, Malia smiled when she saw his ears starting to turn red.

"I'm not stripping _all_ the way down," she assured him. She couldn't help the little giggle that followed. "I'm not even going to shove you in or anything, but _I'm_ taking some time to relax before I have to endure Windhelm." She shed her jacket to start with. She unbuckled her sword belt, stripped off the pieces of her traveling armor, and finally skirted down to her smalls, only feeling a small amount of insecurity.

The water was blissfully hot. The perfect temperature for melting away tension and stress, no matter how intense. She was careful as she found a good ledge to sit down on. She groaned in relief as the water stopped just past her shoulders. "That's the absolute best," she sighed. She rested her head back against the edge and closed her eyes. "Care to join me?"

"If it's that good, then definitely," Alistair chuckled. She heard him begin to undress, then the water sloshed as he settled in at her right. He let out similar sounds of delight as he stilled, a long sigh escaping him. "Oh, this is even better than the spring baths beneath Redcliffe Castle."

Malia chuckled. "Definitely the last chance for water as warm as this," she noted. "I'm warning you now, Alistair. _Everything_ gets cold in Skyrim. The more north you travel, the worse it gets."

"Ferelden is similar. Cold and wet and frozen for the winters."

Malia shuddered. "Probably the number one thing I hate about Skyrim: winter. It's awful from the moment the wind starts blowing in from the north, bringing the cold sea air with it."

"Winterhold is the northmost city, yes?"

"Unfortunately, yeah," she lamented.

Alistair seemed to hesitate before he asked something else. "Are your mages...free?" he asked.

She opened her eyes to frown at him. "Free?" she asked. "What else would they be?"

Alistair shrugged, moving his hands absentmindedly through the water. "Not?" he tried sheepishly. "It's just..." He rolled his shoulders. "I'm not used to seeing mages everywhere, is my point. Like, around with nobody really caring."

Malia frowned. "I'm confused," she admitted. "What are mages like in Thedas?" She could see him grinding his teeth together.

"Mages are kept in Circles. They're these towers all across the continent that are looked after by templars."

"You mean...they're not allowed freedom? They can't go outside whenever they want or have jobs or have families?" Alistair shook his head hesitantly. She gave an indignant snort. "That's...awful," she blurted out. "Really, truly awful. Why in the world would anyone decide that was a good idea?"

"Mages are different where I'm from," Alistair rushed to say. "Some of them can't control their powers and are a danger to others. Then there's blood magic, demon possession, cults..."

"Demon possession?"

He nodded. "Demons try and coax mages into letting them possess their bodies so they can enter the physical world." He shifted so he was facing her more. "Demons and spirits inhabit the Fade, the world of magic, right?" She nodded to show she was following. "Separating them is the Veil. When the veil is torn, _anything_ could come through if the tear is big enough. That's what was going on when I was knocked into your world. Wardens--the Orlesian ones, mind you--had made a deal with the Venatori. They're..." He scowled as he seemed to try and find the right words to explain it to her.

"Bad mages?"

He chuckled. "Very bad mages. They tore open the Veil. They were binding demons to mages." He paused, his expression falling flat. "But they were misled. The Wardens...they became slaves to Corypheus. He drove them to extremes." He scoffed bitterly. "Who wouldn't, after everyone heard the Calling at once?"

Malia's ears perked up instinctively. "The Calling? What's that?"

"Hmm? Oh!" He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's uh...It's nothing. Just a Grey Warden thing. Not worth explaining. Besides-" He put on a smile and gestured around them. "-we're relaxing. And absolutely not talking about anything stressful right now."

_Liar,_ she noted mentally as she said, "Absolutely. Relaxing water, relaxing sun, relaxing company." She rested her head back again. "Relaxing."

"Right."

As the bubbling springs once again mulled over the silence between them, Malia arranged her thoughts. Mages in Thedas were all but prisoners. But they were also seemingly more dangerous due to the fact that they could be _possessed._ She shuddered. Just the idea of something malicious taking control of her mind and body made her grateful that no such thing existed in Tamriel.

And, for whatever reason, Alistair was avoiding certain conversation.

_The Calling,_ she hummed. What did it mean to him? He had mentioned it was a 'Grey Warden thing', but why had he suddenly acted as if it didn't mean anything? Was the Calling some grotesque ritual that all Grey Wardens had to go through? Was it a message or a call to arms? The way he had said it guaranteed that it was nothing good.

But why did she feel a shred of hurt at the fact that he didn't want to tell her?

\---

It was nighttime when they arrived at the Windhelm stables. They were both road tired and hungry and eager to get somewhere warm. Malia once again wished that time would somehow reverse and bring them back to warm weather. It never got nearly as warm in Skyrim as it was back home in Elsweyr, but she wasn't going to complain as long as she had a warm sun and the right attire.

"Listen," she trailed off as they were walking across the bridge toward the gates. "Windhelm is kind of..." She tried to think of an appropriate word.

"Cold?" Alistair suggested.

"Racist," she said instead, laughing at his surprised expression. "Windhelm is the home of the Stormcloaks. Vas told you about the civil war?" He nodded. "A lot of nords just cut out the middle man and decide to hate _every_ elf in Skyrim, and most of them live here on this frozen bit of stone." She waved her hand. "But my point is that if anyone..." She sighed. "If anyone yells out a slur at me, just ignore it, okay? I do, and they're not even worth kicking the shit out of."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Very. We're just staying the night. No need to cause trouble."

Alistair gave her a look that clearly showed how he thought about what could happen, but he eventually nodded. "But let me know if you feel like indulging for once," he joked. "I've been told I have a _shocking_ right hook." Malia burst out laughing. "And if they're light enough I can lift them off their feet? Seriously, it might be entertaining!"

"As much as I would _love_ to, someone actually has to be a jerk for them to get treated like one. For now, let's just find a decent room to spend the night."

Candlehearth Hall was more welcoming than ever. The warmth hit them both immediately, chipping away at the cold that had settled in and around them.

"If it isn't Miss Riften's Thane herself!"

"Oh no," Malia moaned before putting on a polite smile and waving at the woman behind the bar. "Hey Elda!"

The weathered old blonde squinted at her, folding her arms over her chest. "You got my order yet?" Elda asked.

She just rolled her eyes and chuckled. "I've told you a million times, El, I'm not a smuggler anymore. It's not my area of expertise." She paused. "Okay, yes, I am the one who's going to deliver it, but do you have any idea how long it takes to get something from Valenwood?"

"You mean longer than this conversation that will lead to you asking for a room?" She raised an eyebrow at Alistair standing behind her. "Or two?"

"Just the one is fine," he noted. Malia glanced back at him, but decided it wasn't worth the argument. She counted out the right amount of gold for the room and a little more for a hot meal.

"Last one on the left, alright?" Elda said, tapping her finger twice on the bar. That was their little signal for an invitation to chat later, but Malia just shook her head slightly and tried to give her a look that would give some sort of explanation.

"I'll come out in a few for the food," she said instead, waving her hand at Alistair so he would follow. She _had_ planned on them having separate rooms for privacy's sake--like their arrangements back in Riften--but she had no idea why Alistair had said otherwise.

The farthest room on the left was actually her favorite room to stay in on the rare occasion she was in Windhelm. It was the smallest, but that meant it kept warm easier. The look on Alistair's face when he saw how cramped it could be with the two of them was priceless.

"I'll go get us that food," Malia said before he could say anything. She set her saddlebags and traveling pack on the foot of the bed and returned to the bar.

"Alright honey, who is he?" Elda all but demanded.

"Just a man, I promise." She tried to reach out for the two bowls of stew and wedges of bread that were on the bar between them, but Elda put her arm on the bar to stop her.

"You fancy him?"

"It's a tiny crush, El, and one I've already gotten over."

Elda gave her an obvious once over. "Mmhmm," she hummed, clearly not convinced. "What's your fix in this?"

She shrugged. "All I'm doing is taking him to Winterhold. From there on, he's not really my problem anymore." She frowned, surprised at how harsh that had come out. Far more than she had intended. "Can I just have the food?" she asked, both desperate to get away from the conversation but also not overly excited about spending the night so close to Alistair.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop pestering you two." Elda leaned forward on her elbows. "But would you be open to a small bit of advice?" Malia nodded. "I've seen enough winters to learn that there's really no point in _lingering."_ She tipped her head and shrugged. "Who's to say he can't make you happy?"

And _dammit_ she hesitated. _Why_ did she hesitate? "He can," she admitted almost inaudibly. "But I can't have that, and I'm _trying _to make my peace with that." Without waiting for a response, she left quickly, bowls in hand. She used the toe of her boot to knock on the door and tried to put on a presentable face when Alistair opened it.

"Elda makes a good elk stew, but sometimes it can be a little too salty," she warned him lightly. There weren't any chairs in the room so Malia took her preferred spot opposite the bed on the floor. Alistair sat on the bed himself.

"You don't like that I insisted on only one room," Alistair guessed openly.

Malia had to make an extra effort not to look surprised. _Of course he had to bring it up. _"I just don't understand why," she returned, giving him a playful smile. "Wanted to catch a look at me stark naked?" His face went scarlet red and choked on his stew. She burst out laughing at him, feeling a little calmer at the hilarious sight of his instant regret. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding! I'm sorry..." She trailed off in helpless giggles, wary of spilling her stew.

"Maker's breath, Malia," he gasped, dragging his hand through his hair and setting his stew on the floor. "No--I mean, I'm sorry if I overstepped something--I just thought..." He let out an exasperated sound. "I'm sorry. I just figured it would be safer for you if I was here...with everything you were saying about how you might get treated here..."

_Oh._

"Oh," she repeated aloud, sounding so very small. A blush that was hotter than any hearth in Windhelm smacked onto her cheeks and ears, creeping down to her chest. She swallowed thickly and looked down at her bowl. "Believe me, Alistair, I know how to handle myself. I've been doing it for years."

The air between them was tighter than the bowstring on a orchish bow. She set her stew aside and stood up to go sit next to him. "But...thank you," she said in earnest. "I never expected you would want to be so kind to someone like me." She smirked. "You keep catching me off guard."

"Why wouldn't I want to be nice to you?" he asked.

"Alistair," she chided gently. "Have you already forgotten what I do for a living."

"It's not as if you take from the poor, Mal, or kick puppies in your spare time." He cocked his brow. "Unless you _do_ actually kick puppies, then I'm taking back what I said." They shared a laugh. "You...really think that way about yourself?"

"Sure, just makes sense. I _like_ thieving. It's like a drug. Always chasing the high of another successful job, and of course the gold that comes along with that. Good people are the ones that try to better the world around them, sometimes in acts of complete selflessness."

"You saved me out of selflessness," he pointed out. "All I did for you was lose you food, money, and your own bed for a couple nights."

Malia giggled, rolling her eyes. "Well, to turn you out on the streets of _Riften?_ Even I'm not that cruel."

"And here I was thinking I was the best at invalidating myself."

She froze at his words. "How can you invalidate yourself? You're a good man, Alistair."

"You don't know _everything_ about me, about my past."

"And you don't know everything about me or my past," she countered. Malia almost smirked at how fast the words were coming between them, like they were on the exact same line on the same page.

"The same for both of us, then. Why is that?" They stared at each other for a few moments. She should have pulled away from him, but she was enthralled with studying his face. He had a few hidden slivers of green in the brown of his eyes. He had shaved yesterday, given the faded shadow on his jaws and around his mouth.

"You have a lot of freckles," she blurted out.

"Thanks to my mother."

Their noses were inches apart. Oh, how easy it would have been to just lean forward just a little more and feel his lips against hers. She knew she wanted to more than anything at the moment, and somehow it couldn't have been more terrifying. She thought about what she said to Elda, how she told her that she believed Alistair would make her happy in some way.

All she had to was ask.

_I can't._

This time she did pull away, severing the moment. "Gotta eat the stew before it's cold," she told him. "Like I said, there's not too many warm things past this city." She went back over and tried not to be horribly obvious about avoiding any further conversation.

\---

He could have kissed her. They had been sitting so close together. He'd seen the depths of midnight in her dark eyes, almost sparkling with curiosity and something like magic. He'd seen the line of her cheekbones, saw the tiny beauty mark just below the right one. He'd certainly wanted to. But she had pulled away and kept her distance. She had captured his attention little by little, day by day, and _Maker's breath,_ she was an amazing woman. So much like...

Like Kian.

She was kind and funny and sarcastic like he had been, and he had also downplayed who he was. His world saw Kian as a hero, and Alistair _knew_ that he would be hating the attention, hating the praise and glory. He'd bet that Malia would hate it too, if she had been in the same situation. "Praise and glory" weren't the best words to describe a thief, she would probably mention. Still, he couldn't understand why she thought less of herself for that.

He didn't expect angelic qualities or anything so polished. He was certainly no saint, himself. He wasn't blind, he knew in his heart that he was a good man--and even took pride in that--but he had his share of dark moments. The refugees of Lothering, how all they had wanted was food. If he thought hard enough, he could still hear the sound of a man's ribs shattering under his elbow. He'd been starving, barely anything under his skin. A man at his last.

The rejection stung more than he expected.

It was childish, maybe, but his sheer inability to get close to anyone was _astounding._ Whether left or taken, the people in his life were not ones to stick around. It burned like what he had felt when he had to say goodbye to his father without even ten minutes with him. He had strongly hoped that maybe, just maybe Maric would live and they could _talk._ After years of hardly thinking of the man, it still surprised him today how much it hurt to have that choice taken away.

And Kian?

That never stopped hurting. They hadn't even said proper goodbyes. A kiss, an "I love you", and that was it. The final moments of the Hero of Ferelden. Forever immortalized in a complete eyesore of a statue smack dab in the middle of the Market District.

_Yeah, Kian would have wanted to throw eggs at it,_ he thought to himself, smirking in the darkness. _Or maybe paint a mustache and spectacles on it in the middle of the night._

"Can't sleep?" Malia asked from her side of the bed. He turned his head to look at her, but he couldn't even see her face with the candles gutted out. "You're drumming your fingers on your chest."

He stopped. "Sorry."

"S'okay," she yawned. "It was a funny rhythm. I might even ask for an encore." He grinned. "What's keeping you up?"

He bit his lip, thinking of what to tell her. Did he just blurt out that he was thinking about the people he had lost? How he was starting to grow afraid that he might lose her too? "Just reminiscing," he hummed. "Almost reminds me of my days during the Blight. Going to a place with a lot of mages and asking them to perform some ritual to fix things."

"Has that actually happened to you?"

"Yes, _actually,_ it has. Early days of the Blight, we had to go to the Ferelden Circle and ask them to do a ritual to send someone into the fade to defeat a demon." Malia was silent. "Kian made a pass at Uncle Teagan, I seem to remember." She sputtered out laughing, shifting herself until he was pretty sure she was facing him. "He was handsome enough, I suppose..."

"Oh, I'm sure," she giggled. "Who's Kian?"

_Dammit, _he sighed inwardly. _Oops._ "Kian was, kind of our leader during the Blight. He was recruited right before Ostagar fell, the headquarters in Ferelden at the time. He always tried to make things right, no matter the cost. Immature as all hell, sometimes."

"Those people always make the best of friends," she mused.

"Perfect friend material," he agreed. Malia yawned again and that was the last he heard from her.

It was still a little while until he managed to stop thinking long enough to get some sleep. When he was just stirring awake, Malia was already dressed and rooting around her pack. He took a moment to watch her. She pulled out a brush and sat back on her heels, working through her hair. It reached down to the middle of her shoulders when she didn't have it tied up. It was a dark umber that held the barest of waves within. He watched her part it with her fingers running along her scalp, doing a quick braid with what was in front. She tied it off and left the rest down.

Not wanting to be caught staring, he made a show of moving around under the covers as if he was just waking up. "What time is it?"

"Not yet an hour past sunrise," she said. "I'll go get some breakfast from Elda. Want to eat at the bar?" she offered with a grin.

"Sure."

"I'll save you a seat then." She shrugged on her unpacked cloak and left him to his own devices.

He got to his feet and stretched. It was slightly warmer than last night, but the cold still made him hurry to dress. He kept his armor off and kept the top few buttons of his surcoat undone. He left his sword behind as well and left to find Malia. As she said, she was seated at the bar, talking with a different tender than they had talked to last night. This woman was younger and with far less grey in her blonde hair.

"Oh, I see what you mean," she said when she spotted Alistair. Malia just rolled her eyes and gave him a hello smile as he took a seat next to her. "He's taller than I thought he would be. By the Eight, you must feel tiny when you sand next to him!"

Malia gave her a pained look. "And here I thought I was gonna get through Windhelm without any 'small elf' jokes and-or racial slurs," she sighed. "Great." She drank from a cup of water in front of her. "And for the record, yes, I do feel tiny when I stand next to him."

The woman broke down giggling. She looked like the younger version of the woman from the night before. She had the same blonde hair, the same blue eyes, and even the same shape to her face. She noticed him staring and smiled. She was quite pretty when she smiled. "Hey there, handsome," she hummed. "I'm Freya. So you're this Alistair Malia won't stop talking about, huh?"

To her credit, Malia didn't react. She sipped her water again and stayed focused on her breakfast. Her ears didn't even move a bit. Once he had finally figured out the secret language of elves, he'd used that knowledge several times to better read the people around him. Zevran's ears had always perked up when he was happy. Velanna's ears were often pined back in irritation towards 'dirty shems'...before Nathaniel of course. Then they became 'hairy shems'. Malia was harder to read. Her ears moved in the same ways, but she was better at controlling her tells than most people were.

The fact that he couldn't even _begin_ to guess what she was thinking was, if he was being honest, damned annoying.

"What has she said about me?" he asked smoothly. "Anything good?"

"The usual," Freya insisted, fetching him some breakfast as well. "Tall, blond, handsome. Check, check, and...check." She winked at him. "Kind, a good man, and a damn fine swordsman."

"It's a hobby," he said, smirking when he chuckled. At least _someone_ responded to him. "Anything else?"

"That's about it. Oh! Wait...she said you hogged the blankets and snored all night."

Malia chuckled as he had the grace to blush. "Don't feel too bad, Alistair," she said, clapping him on his shoulder. "I've had to share a room with Bryn before. Kneed me right between my legs one time in his sleep. He was _not_ happy when I woke him up with a smack to the face." Freya burst out laughing and moved along to another person at the bar to tend to.

"The weather looks to be on our side today," Malia continued. She dug around in her jacket pocket and produced a map, unfolding it only a little and pointing to the city on the map. "Here's Windhelm, yeah? Winterhold is up here." She pointed to a sigil of what looked like a three pronged crown. _Or maybe It's three towers?_ "The road goes northwest along the coast. Not the nicest road in the province, but it'll at least be quiet. Maybe a fox here or there. Not too long of a ride, either."

He nodded. "What if they can't help me?" he couldn't help but ask. He hadn't thought much about it, but he refused to be blindsided if it came down to it. "I'm not trying to be morbid or anything, but what if?"

Malia propped her elbow on the bar and rested her chin in her hand. "I wish I could tell you with absolute certainty that it will work," she admitted. Her eyes looked tired, but a tiredness that no sleep would cure. He knew the look well, had seen it plenty of times in a mirror. "But I'm not like the mages of the College of Winterhold. I don't really experiment with magic like they do." She smirked. "I just shoot the occasional fireball at some poor unlucky soul." He sniggered at her quip, and she smiled at his reaction.

"Unlucky indeed," he mused.

She tucked a few strands of her hair back behind her ear. "I really want to get you home, Alistair. Skyrim isn't a place for someone like you."

"Oh?" he tried. "And what exactly am I like?"

She shoved him lightly. "You _know,"_ she sighed. "Besides, everyone you care about is back in your world. Your friends, your family, the Grey Wardens. Even the Inquisition, I'd wager."

"I was really more of a minor character when it came to the Inquisition."

"Alistair," she chided him. "Please let me do this for you."

"But what if it doesn't work?" he asked again.

"Then this world is yours. I'm not sure why you're asking me. It's your decision."

"Got any ideas?"

The corner of her mouth perked up and she folded the map back up. Her ears perked up a little. "Maybe a few."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My M!Cousland is named Kian and he is a sweet gay boy with big-little spoon energy and has the best puppy dog eyes in Ferelden.  
Like imagine Brutus and Pixie where Alistair is Brutus and Kian is a Chaotic Good Pixie <3 <3 <3
> 
> Also I got a huge crush on Origins Teagan. Oh, and eat a dick, Isolde.


	7. Mana vs. Magicka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Malia gain entry to the College of Winterhold and grow closer to each other, despite impending goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A problem I've always had with Skryim is that there honestly isn't enough people, so I've kind of taken up the practice of "adding" people for some background stuff.

The College of Winterhold was...

Precarious.

Or at least _precariously_ perched on a column of stone completely separate from Winterhold itself. The cold turned the land into a constant winter with only the barest and most hardy of bushes or grasses. Malia seemed to enjoy the ride, despite how much she claimed to despise cold weather or snow in general. Sometimes they talked, and sometimes they had kept quiet. It wasn't awkward, thankfully, though he was certain that she wasn't going to bring up what _almost_ happened at Candlehearth Hall. Instead, she talked about the College, some of the mages there and how they were as daring as they were talented.

She had pointed out a massive statue way up on the top of a mountain. A woman holding a star and a crescent moon. Malia told him that it was a shrine dedicated to Azura, the Daedric Prince of Dusk and Dawn.

"When Azura's mother was dying, she gave her three secrets and told her to take one of the mortal races and remake them into khajiit," she had said. Then she had smirked and shrugged. "Long story short, she took some of my people, the bosmer, to do so. I grew up in Elsweyr, the home of the khajiit, so she holds a special place with me."

She was wearing that same smirked when he caught her staring at the College. "A bit much, isn't it?" she said. "But this is the only place in Skyrim where it's completely safe to practice their magic." She flinched. "Well, _almost_ completely safe. Just don't go asking people what happened to the rest of Winterhold."

"The rest of it?"

She gestured towards the bridge and they started walking. "The Great Collapse. Around eighty years ago, horrible storms caused the sea to lay claim over the land, and most of Winterhold was dragged with it. That's why it's still called a city, even though a handful of people and structures remain. The mages at the time claimed it happened because of the Red Mountain eruption, but that happened a century before, so..."

"An experiment gone awry?" he guessed.

"Most likely. Winterhold might be the home of the College, but the mages aren't exactly welcome with open arms around here." Alistair remembered the backlash the Inquisition suffered for a while for siding with the mages after what had occurred at Redcliffe Castle. Even _he_ held a tiny bit of resentment for how they kicked his uncle out of his own home.

A woman stood at the start of the bridge. She was pacing slowly and reading a thick tome. He could tell she was an elf by her pointed ears, but her skin had a golden tint to it. _She's an...altmer, right?_ He was struggling to remember what Malia had told them they looked like. When they got close enough, she snapped the book shut and put it in her shoulder bag.

"Welcome to the College of Winterhold," she greeted them. "Cross the bridge at your own peril."

"Peril?" Alistair repeated at Malia.

The woman frowned at him. "Forgive me, but...you _have_ heard of the College before, yes?"

"We need to speak with the Arch-Mage," Malia said in formal tone.

The woman hid a small laugh behind a gloved hand. "I've heard many a reason for mages to seek entry, but never have I heard up and say they need to speak to Arch-Mage Savos Aren. Who are you?"

"My name is Malia Maivau, Thane of Riften. The Arch-Mage and I have been corresponding for almost a year about the application of conjuration magic in our efforts to reach through the Veil and make contact with powerful magical beings that might inhabit the Fade. Now, if I'm not present for today's experiment, the Arch-Mage might accidentally summon a Nightmare demon bound to the will of the Daedric Prince Vaermina."

Alistair was a both taken aback and impressed with how smoothly she had put together the lie. Granted, he didn't understand half the words she had said, but she had even referenced the Veil and the Fade accurately.

"I-I've never heard of such an experiment..." the woman started to say.

"Probably because the ones we have conducted have been minor and, unfortunately, without success. However, we've recently acquired the materials necessary to give us hope. May we pass?" The woman stammered for a few more seconds, but eventually snapped her mouth shut and nodded, stepping aside. "Thank you very much," Malia said. "I'll make sure to mention to the Arch-Mage that you may have helped save his life." She grabbed Alistair's wrist and strode quickly along the bridge.

"That was bloody incredible," Alistair said once they were out of earshot.

"Bloody nerve-wracking is more like," Malia grumbled. "I've never actually been _in_ the College. The fence here meets me back at the inn. I just didn't want her to ask you to cast a spell to allow you entry because, obviously, you can't, and I just-"

"Malia." He stopped them and put his hands on her shoulders. "Relax. And thank you. Maker knows I would have never pulled that off."

Her ears cheeks were already pink from the cold, but they darkened at his words. "Oh...thanks," she mumbled. "Part of the job, you know? If you can't sneak your way in, then you might as well try talking your way in."

The courtyard in the just past the gates of the College was impressive. A simple fountain sat in the middle and a beam of blue light shot out of it. Past that, a statue of a formidable looking mage in billowing robes stood proud. A few trees and bushes were rooted in the ground, but otherwise it was covered with a layer of snow.

"Have you ever thought about studying here?" Alistair asked suddenly.

Malia shook her head. "Most spells and enchantments can be done by any mage. Most of all you need the right state of mind and control of your magicka."

"Magicka?"

She waved her hands in front of her as she thought. "It's like a certain amount of magic a mage has at any given time."

"Oh, you mean mana?"

"If that's what they call it in your world, then sure." She pushed one of the doors open and let him enter first.

The inside was almost as cold as it was outside, but no less impressive. The main chamber held a class of no more than five or six young mages. By the look of her robes, a senior mage was leading the lesson.

"The key to any good ward depends on your own constitution and fortitude," she was saying. "Now, the strongest of wards depend on not only your magicka, but your life force as well. So if you find yourself running low on those two..." She looked among the mages. "Anyone have any suggestions?"

The class was quiet. Someone coughed awkwardly. Alistair scoffed quietly. He was no mage, but he didn't have to be one to know the answer.

"Dodge," he answered loud enough for the senior mage to hear. He soon realized his slight mistake when everyone turned around to stare at him. "Oh, shit," he breathed.

"Correct," the mage said. "What's your name?"

"Alistair." He panicked slightly. "But _she_ answered your question." He pointed to Malia. She responded with smacking him with the back of her hand.

"Mmhmm. Step forward."

"I hate you," she muttered. She shed her jacket and tossed it at him, striding forward. "I apologize for interrupting the lesson."

"Providing a valuable answer to a simple question is hardly an interruption..."

"Malia."

"Malia. My name is Mirabelle. Welcome to the College. Would you be troubled to help demonstrate what a proper ward looks like?"

"Not at all." The young mages moved to the sides of the room while Malia selected a spot about thirty or so feet from the instructor. "Am I allowed to know what's being thrown at me?"

"A simple fire spell, nothing to be worried about."

Malia nodded and said something in a language Alistair didn't understand. She spread her feet in a strong stance. Mirabelle called fire to the palms of her hands and nodded to Malia. She nodded back and cast a barrier in front of her. Where it originated from her palm, there was no color, but around the edges, where it shielded her from head to toe, it glowed a brilliant blue.

Mirabelle shot a sizable fireball from her hand and it zipped across the room. Malia shifted her weight forward and braced the force of the impact. The fireball's muffled explosion rippled over the ward, but Malia only knit her brows together.

"Can you take something with a little more kick?" Mirabelle asked.

"Considering that one felt like a tender kiss, sure," Malia snarked. Alistair saw Mirabelle mirror Malia's cocky smirk and ready herself again.

This time, Mirabelle didn't even give any indication of what spell she was going to use. Lighting sprung out of her hands, connecting with the ward for a few seconds before it ceased. Alistair could feel the familiar fizzle in the air of magic, almost as if it was vibrating just enough for him to notice. Malia used her free hand to gesture for more. Mirabelle leaned back before thrusting both hands forward, flames roaring from her palms. Malia disappeared in the inferno and he almost called out for a stop until he saw a sphere forming beneath the flames. When they cleared, Malia had both arms extended to either side, a bubble of a ward protecting her from all sides. She was panting slightly, but otherwise perfectly unharmed.

"Most impressive," Mirabelle said, dusting her hands off on her robes. "Who taught you?"

"My grandfather," she replied, dropping the ward.

"I see." She clasped her hands together and turned to her students. "Hopefully all of you were watching closely, because tomorrow you'll be behind your own wards. Class dismissed." She gestured to Alistair to come closer. "You've shown obvious talent in the arcane arts, Malia," she said. "What brings you to the College?"

Malia glanced at Alistair, taking her jacket back from him. "It's kind of a long story," she started. "But this is the only place that might be able to send him back home."

"Back home?" Mirabelle looked him over. "Is there any reason a horse or carriage would not suffice?"

"Every reason," he insisted. "Perhaps we could speak somewhere else?"

\---

The Archanaeum was the most books Malia had seen since she had swiped an expensive set of cutlery from a house in Solitude. They had mostly been history books and botany catalogues, but it had has still made her a little envious. The College had probably every book it could have in all sizes, colors, topics, and ages. She itched to walk around and pick through the collection, but she suspected that Alistair wanted her to stay for support.

"I know what we're saying is nothing short of crazy," Alistair sighed. "But every word is the truth."

They had been at it for hours. It was well into the night, and there was nobody in the library save for them. Malia covered her mouth as she yawned widely, silently lamenting that she wouldn't be sleeping in her own bed tonight. That is, if they ever managed to get to bed before sunrise.

Mirabelle nodded as she scribbled in her notebook. "Fascinating," she murmured. "And you have no clue as to what caused you to arrive here?" Alistair shook his head, also visibly tired. Mirabelle, however, seemed more alert than ever. "Hmm...a good starting point would be to consider the possibility that...what did you call it..." She flipped through her notebook quickly. "The Fade, yes, the last place you were in your world. Perhaps such a realm of magic connected to our world..."

Malia folded her arms over her chest and shifted down in her seat. Her feet were cold and she was exhausted. Mirabelle could make all the assumptions on the face of Tamriel, but until they started doing something about it, she couldn't help but feel like they were just throwing away time. In the Guild, once the plan had been set in stone, the work started immediately.

Before she knew it, she was nodding off to the words of Mirabelle's theories, only stirring when she realized that someone was picking her up like a child.

"Calm down, it's just me," Alistair said quickly when she jerked slightly. He lifted her up as if she weighed nothing and started walking.

"Where are we going?" she mumbled, yawning widely.

"The dormitories," he explained. "Mirabelle is letting us stay there for the night." He started down the stairs. "We supposed to meet with the Arch-Mage tomorrow morning."

She yawned again. She kind of wished that Alistair would set her down, but it would be such a waste. He was surprisingly warm, even with his armor on. Perhaps they weren't meant to be together, but she was going to take what she could get before she never saw him again. Who knew how much time they truly had left? She relaxed with a sigh and listened to the calm beat of his footsteps until the time finally came for him to set her down on the edge of a bed. She stretched her arms overhead, letting out a quiet groan.

"You didn't have to carry me," she muttered, unable to keep herself from smiling.

"You weigh the size of two grapes, Mal," he teased, dodging her lazy foot before it could connect with his shin. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" he laughed. "But you are much smaller than I. Is that an elven thing?"

"More like a bosmer thing," she sighed. She scooted over and patted a spot next to her. Alistair quickly removed his cuirass and set it aside. He also closed the door before sitting down. "Altmer are generally taller than most, but dunmer are the most average."

"No wonder you make a good thief. I doubt even an eagle would spot you in broad daylight."

Malia rubbed the back of her neck. "That's skill." She shrugged. "That's all we depend on, at least. No use in betting on luck."

"I thought thieves were the world's best gamblers?" Alistair recalled with a smirk.

"We are. Any thief these days would be an idiot to bet on luck." She scoffed softly. "But perhaps this was all thanks to luck." She looked up at him and smiled. "Meeting you, teaching you about my world, having a good laugh in between it all.

"It was all wonderful." He grinned. "I liked riding the most. The talking and learning and seeing your homeland." She almost corrected him on the fact that Skyrim wasn't actually her homeland, but she held her tongue to preserve the soft look on Alistair's face. "It was nice to just sit back and watch."

"My world?"

"And you. How you talked, how you treated those around you..." He shrugged. "You're a pretty amazing person."

She blushed. "You only think that 'cause I was nice to you!" she protested, smiling. "If you didn't notice, I was on my best behavior around you."

"Were you now? Here I thought I was lucky enough to be stuck with the nicest woman in Skyrim."

"My favorite hobby _is_ kicking puppies, actually," she joked for the sole purpose of hearing him laugh, which he did. He had a well-used laugh, like he was skilled in doing so. And he had the sleekest grin she had seen on anyone. The corners of his mouth and eyes crinkled and all around looked perfect exactly how it was.

"I could maybe live with that," he said thoughtfully, scratching at his chin. "But only for you."

"Smooth, Alistair," she chortled. She leaned forward on her knees and kept laughing at the shocked yet trapped face he had on. "Do all the ladies melt in their shoes when you pull that line? How many fell for you right then and there? Three? Four? Five?"

"Stop," he groaned, falling back on the bed with his hands over his eyes. "I do _not_ flirt with everyone I pass!"

"I didn't say that," she protested, patting his chest. "I'm just saying that you don't have to work very hard to get someone to fall into bed with you. You're very charming and handsome."

"Handsome, am I?"

"Don't pretend like you're not!" she cried, falling back beside him. "I _know_ you know you're handsome!"

"I am a _royal_ bastard, so perhaps I should thank my father for his _kingly_ looks." He rested his hands on his chest and stared up at the ceiling.

"Did you ever meet him?" Malia blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Oh, sure, more than a few times when I was a child. He would visit Redcliffe and I would see him at the stables with his horse. I didn't know back then, of course, but I was there when he died."

"You were?"

He nodded slowly. "He went missing for several years. I managed to convince Queen Anora to let me pick up where the trail went cold. Took a lot of work, and we _did_ find him, but we couldn't save him." Malia turned over on her side and placed her hand on his arm. "But I was granted the time to say goodbye, and hear that he was proud of me."

"That's spectacular," she breathed, breaking into a wide smile. "You must have been so happy to meet him and hear that." She frowned suddenly. "Unless he was a tyrant or something, then otherwise that's really odd, I think."

He chuckled. "No, he was a good king, I think. Freed Ferelden from Orlesian occupation. Served justly until he disappeared. And yes, it was good to hear. And I found out who my real mother was and met her as a son as well. We both worked for the Inquisition in the end, so we ended up talking when we could."

Malia started brushing her thumb back and forth across a silverite stud in his surcoat. She listened to him breathe evenly for a moment or two, simply enjoying his company. "I was the only one with my father when he died. It's how he wanted it: just me at his side and the window letting in the breeze. I was eleven, so I think it was better at the end of it all that I was so young. I understood death, but it's not as if I thought my father was going _nowhere. _I'll see him again someday."

Alistair hummed in response. "You were so young," he pointed out.

"I always have a part of him with me." He looked over at her and grinned. She mirrored it. She kept expecting him to say something, but they simply looked at each other. "Your freckles are really cute. You can really see them when you smile."

"So are yours," he countered, reaching over to brush his finger along the ridge of her cheekbone. "Your face in general is really cute, you know."

That was a deliberate flirt, and they both knew it. Malia closed her eyes and gently squeezed his arm. "You have to go home," she sighed. "It's not safe for you here."

"I _have_ seen my fair share of dangers, Mal," he retorted. "And I'm not suggesting anything permanent."

Malia opened her eyes and mouth to protest, but no words came forth. He was right. He would be fine is Skyrim with the experience he had earned over his years in Thedas. Much of their worlds were the same. He would probably join the Companions if he had to, seeing as it was the closest thing to the Grey wardens.

"Then...what are you suggesting?" she asked carefully, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest. He visibly hesitated, but he grasped her hand that was on his arm.

"A wiser man than I might have planned this a little better," he admitted in a chuckle.

"And a sane woman might have left you for the bandits," she countered. "I'll start." She cleared her throat and deliberately put on her most charming smile. "May I kiss you, Alistair?" she asked smoothly.

"Only if _you_ want to kiss me."

"I'd be an idiot not to." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. His hand cupped the back of her head to keep her from retreating. He turned toward her and pulled her against him. She kept kissing him, cupping his cheeks to keep him steady. His lips parted and tempted hers open as well. It felt amazing to kiss Alistair. He was warm everywhere and knew exactly where to hold her, how to leave her wanting more.

He pulled away abruptly to kneel in front of where she sat. She sat up with an indignant huff, pouting. He just grinned wickedly at her and started to undo the laces of her boots. He set them both aside, shoving her socks into them as well. She reached out to grab him, but he leaned away from her touch, taking one of her feet in his hands.

"Really?" she laughed.

He shrugged and kneaded her feet between his palms and fingers. "I might as well do this right." Malia leaned back on her hands and closed her eyes. Her feet had been cold all day, and finally getting a chance to warm them up indoors along with Alistair's hands was truly blissful. Then his hips were wedging between her knees. He slipped his arms around her back and pulled her over him. She snickered and hugged him to her chest. She threaded her fingers through his hair, smiling at how soft it was.

She took his face in her hands and grinned lazily. "You could open a business," she suggested. "Pay to have all your stresses worked out by a strong, sexy swordsman."

He raised an eyebrow and made a face. "Oh, you think so?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Mmhmm" she hummed before kissing him. He devoured her, body and mind. He stole her breath away, leaving her to gasp for air as he moved his lips along her jaw, teasing her pulse point with his teeth. All of her thoughts of _can't_ and _shouldn't_ were thrown out carelessly, burned away by the heat in her veins.

He encouraged her up the bed until her head rested on the pillow. It was a single person bed, so the most comfortable was over her. Her thighs hugged his hips, but there was still some space left between them. She smiled up at him as he shed his surcoat, leaving him in just an undershirt. He helped her out of her jacket as well, tossing it to the floor as well.

"Divines above," she breathed as he leaned down to kiss her again. He was propped up on his arms, keeping most of his weight off of her. She took her time to feel him. His body was firm, carefully crafted muscles beneath his skin. She grasped tightly at his shirt, debating whether or not to ask him to remove it.

They stayed like that, though, Malia couldn't tell for how long. She was content with kissing him for as long as she could.

Eventually, however, she was reminded that she was exhausted, and that some good sleep was needed for both of them. "We should get to bed," she suggested, kissing him once more on his flushed cheek.

"You're right," he sighed, grinning against her lips. "I suppose..." He carefully removed himself from atop her, adjusting his breeches slightly. Malia sat up and grabbed his surcoat from the floor and offered it to him. "Thanks." She followed when he went for his curiass, helping him buckle that as well.

"Thanks for the good time," she teased, pulling him down to kiss him.

"Good enough for a second one?"

"If you play your cards right." She kissed him one last time and saw him out the door. She waited until he disappeared into his own empty dorm room. She closed the door and dressed down for sleep, slipping into bed and staring at the ceiling. She waved her hand in the air and extinguished the candles.

The stone walls of the College were deafening to most all sound, so all she heard was the wind outside and her own breathing. Her fingers traced her lips, still a little kiss-swollen.

"Brynjolf is gonna kill me," she chuckled to herself, turning on her side and tucking the blanket over her shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always love comments on my works, even if they're telling me to eat a dick, so feel free to give me some feedback on how I'm doing! <3


	8. Tundra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is brought to Sarthaal as protection for the mages. Meanwhile, Malia bloodies her blades for a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight lemme just put it out there that I'm one of the few Dragon Age fans that doesn't mind the canon that elf-blooded people appear entirely human, and if anyone has a problem with that it's totally cool. Everyone's entitled to their own canon as well. Just a fair warning ;)

"Interesting," Arch-Mage Savos Aren hummed as he looked Alistair over more than once. He stroked his silvering goatee. He was an ancient-looking dunmer with weathered eyes, yet they seemed to pierce right through the man

Alistair had forgone his armor, simply wearing his blue surcoat. His hair was still a little tousled from sleep, but he looked anxious to hear what the wizard might say. Malia stood just off to the side with Mirabelle, arms folded across her chest. Her feet itched to pace, but she stood still, trying not to fidget too much.

Her thoughts were as muddy as a pond after a downpour. She didn't know how to feel. On the one hand, she wanted everything to work perfectly without any major problems. It would be a dream if the Arch-Mage knew exactly how to help Alistair and send him back to his own world.

Her fingers drifted up to her lips, remembering the night before. It had been so different than anything she had experienced before. It had all been soft and gentle and nothing short of wonderful. He had been a perfect gentleman. He had never pushed her, had no doubt pushed aside his own desires and waited for her to decide. She smirked slightly, recalling what her previous encounters with men. Hurried moments in tavern inns, back alleys, and even one time in the back of a carriage with a particularly charismatic driver in Morrowind.

Would she be able to say goodbye to a unique man such as Alistair? A Grey Warden who had shuffled up all sorts of excitement in her life. She cursed herself for going as far as to maybe have feelings for him. She ducked her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing quietly. The thing was, she wouldn't regret any of it. Not a single moment. Every one was a gift to her.

"And you say this world of spirits and demons is how you found a 'rift' and came unto ours?" Arch-Mage Savos Aren was saying.

"The Fade, and yes, a rift is the only way in or out," Alistair confirmed, rolling his shoulders.

"Fascinating!" he exclaimed. He had the same fire in his eyes that Mirabelle had the night before. It was definitely a College mage thing. "Well, of course, since you ended up here, there's no doubt that the chance exists to send you back."

Alistair straightened up, his eyes widening. "Really?" he asked in disbelief.

Mirabelle chimed in. "From what you've explained, a rift works as a doorway. Doors open both ways."

Malia thought back to what Alistair had told her, how he had distracted the Nightmare demon to keep it from _leaving_ the Fade. "It makes sense," she noted quietly. "Opening doorways between worlds is not a new thing for Nirn."

"Precisely," Savos Aren agreed. "If a Daedric Prince can transport an army through one of theirs, than surely we can send one man through one of ours." He frowned slightly. "The only detail in need of review is _how?_ How do do we find the right doorway?"

As they continued to discuss the problem, Malia found a chair to sit down in. She unbuttoned the top of her jacket and pulled out her astrolabe. She turned the dials slowly, absentmindedly. It could tell her how to get anywhere in Tamriel, but it couldn't help her decide exactly where to go. What to do.

_Twenty-nine__ years I've seen and I'm acting like an adolescent,_ she sighed inwardly at herself. She turned the dial until the constellation and birthsign of the Warrior was at the top. _Strength._ She turned it to the Lord. _Power and protection._ Finally, she turned it to the Thief. _Luck and cunning. _

She sighed quietly and pinched the bridge of her nose, grimacing at the all too familiar feeling of doubt in her mind. Why couldn't things simply make sense? There were no grey areas with the Guild. Black and white, it all was.

Alistair was grey. Her mind was grey. Everything was slowly chipping away at her and she wasn't sure how long she was going to hold out against her own damn stubbornness. As much as she would loathe to admit it, perhaps Brynjolf had been right, even if he hadn't said it outright. The chance they had at making it work was slim, and Alistair needed to go back home.

"Pardon the disturbance, Arch-Mage, but a letter has been delivered for a Malia Celeste Maivau, and I was told she was here."

At the sound of her full name, she perked up. She quickly stuffed her astrolabe back in her jacket and approached the young mage, taking the letter from him silently. The perfectly square letter indeed had her name on it, and she tore it open without hesitation.

_Lass,_

_I'm sorry to interrupt your little vacation, but it seems bad luck has chosen to strike you this time around. Maven contacted Mercer about employing you and was none too pleased to hear you were away for "personal" reasons. Again, sorry to cut your adventure short, but I'd very much appreciate it if you would hurry your ass back here to I don't have to deal with another day of Mercer riding mine._

_Bryn_

_P.S. No one knows what Maven wants from you, still, but something tells me it's going to be bloody tedious, so tread lightly._

Malia cursed to herself and shoved the letter in a pocket. _Perfect bloody timing,_ she groaned.

"Bad news, is it?"

_Alistair._ It seemed her goodbye would have to come far sooner than anticipated. She turned and offered a warm smile. "Brynjolf needs me back," she stated plainly. "The head of the Black-Briar family has requested my services. I...need to go back to Riften." She looked to the two mages still present. "Mind if we steal a moment to speak?" she asked.

The Arch-Mage nodded once. "Of course. Mirabelle and I will wait here until you are finished."

Alistair followed Malia out of the room to the stairwell. The closed doors would give them a sense of privacy. They stopped on the middle landing and he waited for her to talk. She forced herself to look up and meet his eyes. Those wonderfully kind brown eyes.

_Divines, this is going to be like kicking a_ _puppy._

"I really don't want to leave you here alone, but..." She sighed. "You need to go back home, Alistair. And I can't be here to help you any longer. I need to go home, too." She dropped her gaze, grimacing at herself. "You should have been saved by someone better. Someone good. Someone who wasn't a thief and a liar. I promised to see you home, and I can't keep it."

"Hey." Warm hands rested on her shoulders, causing her to look up again. "You were in that room. You know as well as I that all we have right now is speculations and theories." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Go home, Mal. I've troubled you enough."

"You're not trouble," she protested, the toe of her boot stamping lightly in defiance.

"Oh, yes I am!" he fought. "Maybe not now, but when we met, I kicked you out of your own bed for two nights. That's bothersome. Trust me, I used to be shoved out of my own bed by my mabari." They chuckled. Malia skimmed her hands down Alistair's arms so she could hold his own hands. "I'll be right here, okay?"

"I'm not usually this emotional," she tried to claim. "But you've certainly made a difference in my life, Alistair Theirin."

"As you have in mine, Malia Celeste Maivau." She frowned at her name. He snickered. "Don't like it?"

"I'm just not used to hearing it. Hardly anyone knows my full name."

Alistair leaned down and planted a firm kiss to her lips. She allowed herself to lose all thought in it, to enjoy the warmth and let the world sway around her. He pulled back, looking entirely pleased with himself. "Then I count myself a lucky royal bastard," he murmured. "Stay safe, please?"

She smirked mischievously. "Not a chance. Write to me, yeah?"

"Already missing me?"

"You wish."

\---

_Two Weeks Later_

Alistair woke, as always, with cold shoulders. Winterhold was bloody cold, even on the sunniest of days, and he somehow always failed to keep his blankets up to his neck. The dorms were warmed by enchantments, but the cold still lingered in places. It reminded him of the cold months during the Blight where all that separated him and the winter winds was a canvas tent and a few thick blankets.

He turned over and squinted in the low morning light coming in through the window near the ceiling. Malia's last letter sat on a few books, slightly propped open at the fold. Couriers in Tamriel were far faster than the ones in Thedas, and they could apparently find anyone wherever they happened to be. They would make amazing bards.

_I cannot express how much I want to strangle Maven Black-Briar. Or stab her. Or maybe get into a good old-fashioned cat fight with hair pulling and using nails as claws. Any of those would work, really. Seriously, the woman has a horse as high as the Throat of the World. I swear, someday, I'm going to knock out the legs from under it and laugh as she falls in the dirt._

_Ooh, that was a little mean, wasn't it? Well, considering I had to crawl through a skeever nest and go toe-to-toe with a very powerful mage, I'd say I get a free pass this time around._

He chuckled to himself quietly as he remembered the letter. Her writing was held every single one of her mannerisms. He could almost imagine she was in the room, talking to him herself instead of having to read a letter.

Once up and dressed, he made his way to the mess hall. The young mages were still wary about him, but the few that shared a dormitory hall with him were friendly enough. There were Syn and Mauna, breton sisters from Solitude, a dunmer named Vallar, and a khajit who called himself Kika.

"Look who finally rose from the dead," Syn teased, waving him over. She scooted over so he could sit between her and Kika. The hall was only half full, as it usually was. Meal times were stretched to accommodate the unpredictability of the student mages. "I swear I could hear you snoring from across the dorm hall." She grinned and pointed her fork across the table. "Or was that you, Vallar?"

"Probably me," he admitted in a grunt, buttering a hot roll. "I stay up later than any of you. Trust me, Alistair and Kika don't snore."

"Spying on us, are you, my friend?" Kika hummed, his tail swishing back and forth. "This one would not be pleased if that were the case."

"I'm simply blessed with godly observance." Vallar grinned sleepily and turned his attention back to his breakfast.

Syn slid a full plate in front of Alistair. "Seeing the Arch-Mage today, Mister Super Special?"

He shook his head. "Nothing new to talk about," he said, shrugging. "And I'm not special."

"Private meetings with the Arch-Mage and Master Wizard Mirabelle is kind of a big deal." She nudged her shoulder against his. "I'm just teasing you a little." To reassure her words, apparently, she stuck her tongue out at him and smirked.

_Is she flirting with me?_ he wondered briefly. _Feels like flirting..._

"Ser Alistair." He twisted in his seat and found one of the older instructors waiting for his attention. Tofdir, he remembered. Mirabelle had mentioned he normally taught the new apprentices, but that he was an exceptional mage in alteration magics, whatever that meant.

"As you might have heard, the College has been planning an observational study at the nearby excavation of Saarthal." Alistair nodded. "Though you are no mage, I had hoped you might accompany my apprentices to offer additional protection. Not many of them know any means of defense outside of magic."

"Protection?" he echoed. "I thought Saarthal was a ruin?"

Syn elbowed him gently. "Dragur," she muttered.

_Oh._ He had read about them. He was no stranger to fighting the undead, but he wasn't a fan of it either. Still, getting out for some exercise sounded better than being holed away with nothing else to do but read books or wander around. His mind was starting to go a little haywire from so much new information to take in. "Sure, of course," he said.

Tofdir's face lit up like a magelight. He clapped his hands together. "Excellent! Meet the class in Winterhold after your breakfast, and we'll set out. Thank you, again."

"Maybe Alistair's the real Thalmor spy," Kika suggested after the man had left. "Private meetings with the Arch-Mage and Master Wizard. No apparent magical talent, yet is welcome to stay in the dorms. And now Tofdir is asking him to accompany his class to the oldest and largest Nordic ruin in Skyrim." His ears twitched playfully and his tail swished.

"Pretty sure no Thalmor would be caught dead wearing blue," Vallar grunted into his cup.

"Which is precisely why he is so inconspicuous." Kika smiled, showing off impressively sharp teeth. "He isn't even elf-blooded. Perfectly rounded ears."

Alistair froze in the middle of chewing, feeling a tiny blush rising to his cheeks. He hoped no one would notice, but he saw Syn give him a curious look. He shook his head once and focused back on his breakfast.

Elf-blooded. For so long, the phrase had meant nothing to him. It had been common knowledge. A fact of little importance.

Until, of course, he discovered his mother had, in fact, been an elf. _That_ had been a bigger revelation than learning he was a royal bastard of King Maric Theirin, heroine of Ferelden. To have thought for a majority of his years that his mother had been a simple serving girl--a human--and then told the truth by his own father... It had been a confusing day, and a whirlwind of a few weeks in his search.

Grand Enchanter Fiona, formerly of the Grey Wardens, was his mother. His hand drifted to his chest where his two amulets hung. One from his Joining, one from his mother. He rarely took them off. He had never learned the full story of how his parents had met and...fraternized.

He scoffed quietly to himself. He _definitely_ didn't need to know those details. But perhaps he could find peace without the past. After all, it couldn't be changed, and it wasn't as if Fiona was with him to fill in the blanks.

He frowned, feeling a strange pull in his chest. Before he could ponder on it, Syn elbowed him again.

"You'd better get going," she advised. "Watch out for booby traps." Vallar chuckled salaciously. Syn flicked a toast crust at him, scowling. "And be safe," she added. "As much as we tease you, we'd probably cry ourselves to sleep if we let you get yourself killed in a bloody burial ruin."

"At least you wouldn't have to move my body far," Alistair noted. "Just shove me in one of the coffins. I won't mind." Syn made a swipe at his arm but he was already up and making his way back to his room.

As he was buckling his armor on, he glanced at Malia's letter ever few seconds. With his own already written, sealed, and sent, he was anxious for her reply. Besides the work she did for Maven Black-Briar, she had hinted at a growing irritation that was connected to her guild. She never went into detail, but he worried it was something big, something dangerous.

_Not that she needs protection in the first place,_ he reminded himself as he emerged from the Hall of Attainment. Still, he couldn't help but worry. They hadn't talked much at all about their night of chaste passion, much less defined what they were, if anything. He shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts. He didn't need to be worrying right before he was about to delve into an excavation that may or may not be highly dangerous and filled with both the undead and traps.

"Ah, Alistair!" Tofdir exclaimed happily as he approached the small group of students. "Everyone is here, good. Thankfully, the College has allowed us to rent a carriage, which saves us a walking through the tundra. If we could all make our way towards the inn..." The weathered mage fell in step with Alistair, immediately beginning to talk. "I'm very glad you decided to accompany us, Alistair. The underground tombs of Saarthal are largely excavated--that which is still intact, of course--but you never know what the ancient nords left behind."

Alistair nodded. "Wish I could say I was a stranger to the undead, but let's hope you won't need me."

"Oh? So you've fought dragur before?"

Alistair made a sound. "Not exactly," he hummed, pulling his hood up to keep out the cold. "Uh, more like reanimated corpses."

"Ah, the lesser known school of magic, necromancy. The College doesn't teach such practices, but it is a fascinating practice nonetheless."

Alistair couldn't help the slight grumble he made. "Fascinating, yeah..." he muttered under his breath. Fascinating that his cousin was possessed by a demon and killed dozens in Redcliffe castle. He grit his teeth together. It had all been such a long time ago. Comparatively, he was just a lad back then. They had all been so young back then. Kian, Leliana, Zevran. They were all hardened into adults, now. He scowled at the ground, mentally correcting himself. Kian hadn't gotten that chance. He hadn't even lived past twenty-three.

He dragged his gloved hands dragged down his face when he took his seat in the carriage, sighing heavily. He could feel himself slipping back into a dull mood that irritated him from time to time, usually when he thought about the past, about the Blight. Just as it tainted the land, the Blight had tainted his treasured memories from that time.

"Rough night?" a young mage joked next to him. "Nothing like a excavated tomb to clear your head, eh?"

"Yeah, sure," Alistair agreed, hoping the man wouldn't keep talking.

He did.

"You're not a mage. Unless you've also decided to carry a sword to look all strong and powerful."

"Nope. Not a mage. Just additional protection."

The man squinted slightly, a mischievous grin splitting his lips. "I've seen you around," he pointed out. "You're staying in the Hall of Attainment." Alistair nodded. "So, you're not a mage and you're staying where mages stay." He shook his head. Just then, Tofdir signaled to the driver, and they began to clatter down the roughly cobbled road. "Care to explain?"

Alistair squared his jaw. "Don't really see the need to," he grunted, realizing how gruffly blunt he was being. He tried to think of Malia's last letter, and how he was expecting another any day.

"Someone shit the bed this morning..."

He ignored the annoying mage and ducked his head down, trying to focus on his hands clasped together between his knees. One of the few blessings the templars had given him was the skill to refocus his mind. To come to a happy medium and stay calm. He closed his eyes, trying to envision the birch forests of the Rift. The rides he had shared with Malia had brought a new kind of tranquility to his mind, especially with the wonderful array of the warm colors of autumn. And, of course, Malia had fit right in with it. She practically _glowed _among the colors, completely in her element. Almost without effort could he see her standing on a whitened beach, grinning as she stared out at a vast ocean of a brilliant blue she had described to him several times.

She was an embodiment of fire and light. She was controlled chaos, all power beneath a hearty smile and deft fingers.

And--_Maker_\--he couldn't get her out of his head.

"Don't mind Jimaal," another mage said to him once they had arrived at Saarthal. She offered a slight smile from under her large hood. "He's kind of an ass to everyone." She stuck out her hand. "I'm Lilith. I study Restoration."

"Alistair," he returned kindly, shaking her hand. "I'm the muscle, I guess."

She laughed. "Good thing, cause almost no mage can take a punch." They turned to the ruin. From what Alistair could see, it almost looked like a hole in the ground. "Know much about Saarthal?"

"Not a wit."

She laughed again, brightening his mood a little. "Well, it was the first and largest settlement of Atmoran nords in Skyrim." She gestured to the excavation site. "This is just the burial tombs. The city is long gone, sacked by the snow elves."

"What-" Alistair snapped his mouth shut before he could form his question. No need to be blurting out he didn't belong in this world. He cleared his throat. "S'cuse me. Go on."

Lilith seemed to ignore his choked sound and continued to explain. "After the city was destroyed, Ysgramor and the Five Hundred Companions hunted down the elves to near extinction, driving them out of Skyrim and Solstheim. All that remains of the city is the tomb that was built."

"The excavation?"

"Yep. I'll show you around a little if you want? Tofdir's gotta talk to the others, but I've been here a bunch. We can catch up with them."

_Delve into the forgotten tomb of an ancient city? With no supervision? Where the undead could also possibly be walking?_

He grinned. "Lead the way."

While the old mage did in fact pull most of their group aside, he and Lilith headed down the planked stairs and into the ruin itself. Immediately, his eyes were drawn everywhere. The door was solid metal and almost shimmered like moonlight on water. Intricate designs swirled and stretched across it.

It only got more incredible from there. The door immediately gave way to a passage that led deeper into the ground. Strings of magelights lit the way, the torch scones long lost to time, and every one they passed seemed to pulse slightly brighter for a moment.

"Maker's breath," he breathed, trying to take in as much as he could. They had already turned half a dozen corners, passing weathered murals and countless wooden support arches.

"Pretty cool, right?" Lilith smiled and watched him as they entered an utterly massive room. Scaffolding wrapped around a few columns that stretched to the ceiling. Bridges and platforms connected them, creating walkways of varying heights. Weathered murals were carved into the walls, and there was a heavy dragon theme to all of them.

"That's a little bit of an understatement!" he exclaimed funnily, grinning at her as well. "Holy ashes of Andraste..."

Lilith laughed. "I'm glad you're so excited about the house of the dead," she joked. "Come on, I'll show you what I'm working on." She led him across one of the many walkways to a corridor that led them do a large room that smelled like dust and decay. Several braziers lit up the entirety of the room. His eyes were immediately drawn to tightly wrapped masses sitting on shelves carved into the walls. "Welcome to the morgue."

"A morgue in a tomb?"

She shrugged. "It's not so much of a morgue as it is a preparation chamber. The processions would end with the body being taken into the tomb, and then they would be brought here and mummified." She went over to a table with several, newly cleaned artifacts on it. He saw a jeweled necklace, several golden rings, and other various possessions. "The personal belongings would be sent back to the family, and the body would be mummified and tucked away for all eternity."

He frowned, even though he was honestly fascinated with it all. Had he become king, he would have ended up like one of these bodies. Not mummified, so his body would waste away slowly, clutching a sword he would never wield again. It's what would have happened to Cailan had his body been returned to Denerim.

"Alistair?"

He shook his head, grinning slightly to shake it off. "Sorry, just reminded me of something. But this is all, amazing..." He looked around again at the surprising amount of bodies in the room. "Are any of these ones waking up? Should I go stab them just to make sure?"

Lilith rolled her eyes at him. "Unfortunately for you, no. The enchantments would be put on the bodies after they were completely mummified, and only a handful of the buried were actually made into dragur." Another mage walked into the room, nose deep into a thick tome. Lilith's face brightened and she smiled. "How's the warding, Puku?" she said to the man.

"Oh, wonderful, just wonderful," he immediately sighed sarcastically, snapping the book shut. "My apprentice just mistranslated a spell and almost blew up the hallway. So, wonderful..." He leaned against the table of artifacts roughly. Without even looking up, he waved a hand at Alistair. "As you heard, I'm Puku, School of Destruction. I'm studying the magical traps and such here. Nice to meet you. Excuse my pouting."

"Puku and I have known each other for a while," Lilith explained. "He hates apprentices."

"I don't hate them! They're just empty-headed! If you see glowing inscriptions on the floor, _don't touch them!" _Lilith burst into giggles and Alistair snorted behind a gloved fist. Puku straightened up and pushed his hair out of his face, giving Alistair his first good look at the mage. He was young, but not as young as an apprentice, and he had already mentioned his dislike for them. He was probably an older student of the College. What drew most of his attention was the man's different colored eyes. One green, and the other entirely grey.

"I was just showing Alistair around the site," Lilith said. "He's the muscle for today."

Puku gave him a deliberately appreciative look, actually making him blush a little. "Muscle indeed," Puku noted. "You won't be putting it to much use in here." He gestured to the wrapped mummies around them. "These people are long dead. We haven't opened up any new chambers yet as of late, but the lower levels of the excavation are closest to the unknown."

Alistair nodded. "Suppose I should keep an eye out down there." He shrugged and stuck a hand out. "Nice to meet you, Puku."

The man gave him a bright grin. "Likewise, Mr. Muscle. Don't shy away from coming up for a talk every once in a while."

"Stoooop," Lilith groaned. "Why do you feel the need to rub up to everyone?"

"I only shook his hand!" Puku protested shrilly. "I'm behaving!"

"Uh-huh." She rolled her eyes and turned to Alistair. "I'll show you to the lower levels," she offered, smacking Puku on the arm as they passed. He just snickered and opened his book again, waving them off.

_I wonder if Malia's having as much fun as I am,_ Alistair chuckled as he followed Lilith out of the room.

\---

Malia tore her knife out a man's chest and immediately threw it into the neck of another. He made a horrible choking sound and crumpled, blood spurting everywhere. She drew her swords and rushed the argonian, crossing them against his neck. He trembled and stammered incoherently. She raised an eyebrow.

"Suddenly tongue-tied?" she hissed. "You made me come all the way down here for a name. You'd better speak it now before you join your friend here." She jerked her head at the man still slowly dying.

"Alright, alright!" Gulum-Ei cried, holding his hands up in surrender. He shifted uncomfortably and swallowed nervously. "Karliah. Her name is Karliah."

Malia froze and her heart was filled with cold hard surprised. She leaned on her swords a little bit more. "Karliah?" she echoed. _"The_ Karliah?" He nodded slowly.

"I was going to tell Mercer everything, I swear! I didn't even know who she was until after she contacted me!"

With a low growl, Malia lowered her swords and sheathed them. She was practically simmering, both confused and irritated beyond all hell. She was exhausted, soaked to the bone, half covered in blood that wasn't hers, and on the entire opposite end of the province from home. She retrieved her knife from the now-dead thug and wiped it off on his clothes. The argonian stayed where he was, rooted to the spot against the various boxes and chests.

She put her hands on her hips and sighed. "I'm going to ask you this...one time," she said slowly, holding up her index finger for emphasis. "Where. Is. She?"

"I don't know," Gulum-Ei whimpered. "When I asked her where she was going, she just muttered, 'Where the end began'." He twisted and reached in a pocket, producing an official-looking envelope. "Here, take the deed to Goldenglow as proof. Please tell Mercer I'm worth more to him alive."

Although she was convinced that the slimy newt was indeed a valuable fence, and therefore had no intentions of killing him, she wanted to leave him a parting gift of crippling fear. "We'll see," she spat, turning on a dime to leave.


	9. Threads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt begins for Karliah, but there's a few obstacles to overcome first.

Malia collapsed on her bed with a heavy sigh, her body immediately screaming in relief. She hadn't even bothered to light a candle for her homecoming. Or take off her boots. Or her armor, for that matter. She was probably getting her sheets all dirty, but she would fall on her sword before she cared. She hadn't slept in days. She'd barely eaten. She couldn't remember the last time she bathed in an actual bathtub.

And she'd be gone again in the morning, bound for where the end began.

_Snow Veil Sanctum._

"Fuck," she sighed, dragging herself to her feet. She needed to change her clothes at least.

She peeled her armor off piece by piece, dozing off on her feet every few minutes. She kept cursing under her breath, Mercer's name following a lot of them. He _really_ couldn't wait one more day so she could put a little distance between herself and being seconds from death. The feeling was becoming more and more frequent as she did followed each lead that was guiding her to Karliah.

Karliah. She felt like the name was haunting her. Everyone treated it like it was forbidden to speak it. To even know of Karliah was to carry a burden that tainted the Guild's past. She had been too young to have been with the Guild when she had betrayed Mercer and murdered Gallus, but she had known about it long before actually joining the Guild. It was almost a myth among thieves and smugglers. The whole betrayal and abysmal downfall of Skyrim's Thieves Guild was prophetic. To the people working in the trade, it was like watching an empire fall.

Malia was a part of what remained. In hindsight, she might have stuck to smuggling if she had known how much trouble the Guild would get her into. Settling down, personally getting involved with a bitchy crime lord, having emotional ties, and now digging into the aforementioned dark past of Skyrim's Thieves Guild! At least when she was smuggling it had just been her and Vas. Sure, they had friends, but enough distance was put between them. It was easy and comfortable. Fun from time to time as well.

And then, of course...the other things. The grey bits. Thriving in the thrill of a job but longing for the quiet hideaway. Being comfortable in her line of work but wanting to truly find her place. Trying so hard to stay by herself yet only finding loneliness.

And then there was Alistair. The man who was a total knight in shining armor, yet he hardly acknowledged the fact. He carried the potential of a great king, but used it instead to be a good man. One she certainly didn't deserve. She couldn't bring herself to regret kissing him, but the grey was seeping in. He would be so much better off forgetting about her. Some thief with the ability to get in more trouble than she can make it out of.

Changed, she slipped back into bed, immediately feeling sleep pulling at her bones. She rolled on her side and tried to imagine what it would look like if Alistair occupied the other side. It wasn't hard, seeing as they shared a bed in Windhelm. He had slept on his back, one hand resting on his chest and the other tucked under his pillow. She brushed her fingers along the sheets, remembering how his growing beard sounded against the fabric.

"You know, now's _really_ not the time to be thinking about all this," she reminded herself, yawning widely.

It was nice, though, to imagine. For the color to bleed through and get rid of the grey, if only for a moment or two. He had reminded her how to be happy and fall into sync with the world around her.

_I'll go to the College after this Karliah business,_ she mentally declared. _I'll decide...then. Later. As in not now._

"I need sleep," she sighed. Yet she struggled to stay asleep for more than a hour or two at a time throughout the night. By dawn, she still felt exhausted and dead tired, but a little less so than before. She dressed and moved around the house, packing light. Potions, knives, swords... She prayed it would be a there and back trip. No bullshit.

"I can see you didn't exactly get your beauty sleep, eh, lass?" Brynjolf lamented, giving her an almost pitiful look as she saddled Sasha. She gave him a tired glare and put her things in her saddlebags, as little as there was. "You will be careful, right?" He grasped her shoulder tightly. "I can still come with. Just say the word, lass."

"No offense, Bryn, but you're not..." She looked him up and down. "Nevermind. Just trust me, yeah?" She tried at a smile. "I'm the best at what I do, remember?"

"Mal..."

"I'll tell you when I get back," she yawned. She took a moment to gather herself before hauling herself up in the saddle. "I gotta get going. Mercer and I are meeting up in Shor's Stone."

"Malia!" Brynjolf grabbed Sasha's reigns and purposefully stared her down. "I mean it."

She sighed, sounding tired. "I know you do. And I hope _you_ know that_ I_ know that you're buying drinks for a whole _two_ weeks when we get back."

\---

Snow whipped at her face, carried by the harsh wind that raced across the tundra. Luckily she was tucked against the edge of the mountainside, so the rest of her was safe from the storm. She pulled her scarf up over her nose and reached for her belt, finding her little spyglass and extending it. When she looked through it, the stone monuments of Snow Veil Sanctum could be seen protruding from the ice. She frowned. It was downhill, and practically no way to sneak up on it. Karliah would see them coming far before they ever spotted her.

Then again the storm was only worsening. By the next day, it would be twice as hard to see as it was now.

"Now the hard part is gonna be to convince Mercer," she groaned to herself, biting her bottom lip. She shuffled out of her little hole and found her way back down to the road. Sasha and Mercer's horse stood looking miserable in the snow and cold. They were Skyrim drivers, but they had been standing for the better part of an hour. Mercer stood between them, going over details about the ruin's layout. There wasn't much to go off of, but it was better than nothing.

"Nothing unusual," she reported, folding her arms over her chest. "Doesn't even look like anyone's set up a camp outside recently either. My guess is she's making it look like the tomb it is so it puts us at ease."

"I agree," Mercer growled. "Is the storm going to get worse?"

"Probably."

"Then we can give it a day. Karliah has waited twenty-five years to take a shot at me. I'm sure she can wait one more night. Besides, she _wants_ us to go in there. It's where she murdered Gallus. It's where she plans to murder me."

They mounted up and made their way towards Winterhold, and Malia's heart had dropped the second it had been confirmed. How fitting that the Divines force her to confront her emotional troubles instead of trusting her to do it on her own terms. There was no way she would sink as low as to not go and see Alistair. She hoped there had been some headway made in the effort to send him home.

As much as she _also_ didn't want him to go.

Her mind was grey like the clouds above.

"If you take care of the horses I can go find us some rooms," Mercer offered.

Malia nodded. "Deal." She was glad her scarlet blush was hidden by her scarf. "And I need to check in with someone at the College." Mercer just nodded and went inside. She led the horses to the side of the inn, securing them to the railing under an awning and taking off their saddles.

"Be nice, alright?" Malia ran her hands through Sasha's mane a few times and made a face at him before leaving. She ran through the snow and across the vacant bridge that led to the College. The gates were thankfully wide open and she rushed across the courtyard into the Hall of Elements.

The sense of powerful magic had her short of breath when she finally closed the door behind her. She whirled around and her jaw dropped.

Above the middle fountain in the lecture hall, was a ball. An orb, really. And it was _huge._ She stepped up to the doorway and leaned against it, peering in for a better look. She was curious, but she didn't need to be _too_ curious. After all, she was still technically on a manhunt for a murderer and master thief.

The patterning was accented in a language she couldn't read. It looked ancient and incredibly powerful. It rotated slowly, pulsing with blue energy that seeped from the folds. As a mage, she could feel the magic in the air, but it wasn't quite like anything she had ever sensed. That alone convinced her the College had certainly dug up something interesting.

"Not why I'm here," she muttered. She reluctantly tore herself away from the doorway and nearly bumped into a woman coming down from the library.

"By the Eight!" she gasped, both of them springing apart awkwardly.

"Mirabelle!" Malia held up her hands. "Sorry, I wasn't watching. I was distracted by...that thing." She gestured blindly to the orb in the next room.

"Malia, yes, the Eye." She straightened her robes. "It was discovered buried beneath Saarthal, deep in the tombs of the old city. We have taken to calling it the Eye of Magnus. Alistair was actually the one to find it."

"Alistair?" She glanced back at the orb. The _Eye._ "What was he doing at Saarthal? I thought you were supposed to send him home?"

Mirabelle raised an eyebrow. "It isn't as easy as simply unlocking a door. We're bridging worlds and trying not to tear the planet apart in the process."

Malia signed and rubbed the back of her head. "Sorry, I'm just a little wound up." She pulled her hood down and clasped her hands in front of her. "Speaking of, where is he? Alistair, I mean."

"He's staying in the Hall of Attainment."

Cursing herself internally as she had the grace to blush, she moved around Mirabelle and headed for the door again. "Sorry I can't stay and talk about the progress to send him home, but I wanted to talk to him before I have to leave again so...thanks!" She slipped through the door and shoved it closed, leaning on it.

_Thank the gods Brynjolf didn't come,_ she thought to herself. He'd never stop teasing her about being at the College.

She hurried to the smaller doors that led to the dormitories and took the way she had last time. The door to the room Alistair had last time was closed. Biting at her bottom lip, she knocked, waiting nervously. She jumped slightly when it it opened, revealing a young khajit. She was speechless as she frowned.

"A new face," the cat hummed, "yet not a new person. This one is named Kika." He gave her a toothy smile and his tail swished behind him. "You are Malia, correct?"

She frowned deeper. "How do you-?"

"Alistair!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Your lady love has returned."

The words had her cheeks burning, but once Kika stepped aside and she saw Alistair sitting at a desk with his face in his hands and scarlet ears, she realized she had it easy. _Divines know what he's gotten up to these past weeks, excavating a ruin being one of them._

"Kika will give you two privacy. See you tomorrow at breakfast, Alistair." He stepped past Malia.

"Night, Kika," Alistair muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he leaned back. Kika closed the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone.

"Do I get a hug?" Malia asked, smirking brightly at him, her stress and fears suddenly far from her mind.

"Don't even have to ask," he laughed, standing and scooping her in his arms. She helped quietly when he lifted her completely off her feet. "Afraid of heights?" he joked.

"Falling," she giggled. "A fear of falling." She threaded her fingers through his hair and got up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

"What in the name of the Maker are you doing here?" Alistair asked after. He sat on the edge of his bed while Malia took the chair.

"It's a really long story," she sighed and shifted a little. "Hang on, I just need to..." She toed her boots off and set them aside, sighing in relief. "I really need new boots. Anyway, I'm way out here on Guild business, believe it or not."

Alistair raised an eyebrow and smirked. "What's there out here besides glaciers and old Nordic ruins?"

"A traitor." He frowned this time, yet waited for her to explain. "The previous Guildmaster, the one before Mercer Feet, was Gallus Desidenius, and he was murdered by a Guild member named Karliah. She fled, but now she's back here in Skyrim for Mercer. She's hiding in a ruin outside of Winterhold."

"Maker's breath, Mal," Alistair sighed, blowing out his cheeks. "Didn't you and Brynjolf say that the Guild has contracted the..." He squeezed his eyes shut and snapped his fingers a few times. "The, uh...the murder guild?"

Malia burst out laughing at his little stumble. "Murder guild..." She smiled at him. "The Dark Brotherhood?"

"Yeah, the murder guild!" He grinned as she glared at him. "Can't you just get those guys to do it?"

"She's had a lot of time to think about this, Alistair. Twenty-five years. That isn't that long in the life of an elf, but it was to the Guild, and right now we're suffering because of what she's done." She shook her head and looked down at her hands in her lap. "She wants us to follow to where she is, but that means no more running. Whatever happens in Snow Veil Sanctum will either kill the Guild, or bring it back to it's feet."

"I know what that feels like," Alistair sighed.

"Being on a manhunt?"

"In a sense."

_That mello sadness..._ She could see him grinding his teeth as he leaned forward on his knees and scratched at his beard. Without even thinking about it, she moved to his side on the bed, smiling when his arms immediately came around her and they flopped backwards onto the mattress.

"You don't have to tell me now," she insisted. "Besides, this is a free night for both of us and I honestly just want to stay right here for a bit." She shuffled closer to him and tucked herself against his chest.

"You won't hear me complaining," Alistair hummed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You have a widow's peak, by the way."

"I'm well aware," she laughed. "Courtesy of my mother." Silence followed. Then, "Alistair?"

"Hmm?"

"I really missed you," she let out, her shoulders and chest going limp in relief. "Like, a lot." She couldn't see him from where her head rested on his chest, but she imagined he was grinning.

"I missed you too, Malia." His hand started combing through her hair, sending delightful shivers down her spine. "You sounded like you were having a horrible time back home, dealing with nobles and all."

"Don't even get me going," she grumbled. He laughed and the movement against her head had her laughing a little too. _Gods, he makes me laugh as much as Bryn and Delvin._ "Maven is as stuck up as a flagpole. Doing her dirty work was...ugh!" Alistair laughed harder at her outburst.

"Now _that_ brings back memories."

"A honorable Grey Warden like you deals with nobles?"

"Not often anymore. The Warden-Commander meets with the heads of the state every so often for recruitment and reports, but I personally avoid them. During the Blight, though, that was torture, dealing with the nobles."

She snorted. "From what you've told me about the Blights, that hardly seems the time to be getting involved with politics."

His fingers brushed against her neck and she shuddered, her cheeks flushing. "Azura's blood!' she hissed, pushing away from him a little. "What the fuck?"

"Maker's balls, I'm sorry!" Alistair rushed to say, immediately putting space between them. "I'm sorry, I wasn't really thinking..."

Malia rubbed her neck, still feeling little aftershocks from the sensation. "I don't even know what that was!" she chuckled nervously.

Alistair's mouth slowly spread into a sly grin. "Did I stumble across a sensitive area, Malia?" he asked suavely. "You're pretty red, just so you know."

"Stop!" she squeaked, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. "How I'm the world do you throw me off this much?" she asked with a smirk.

"It's a carefully practiced skill."

Alistair reached his hand out slowly, moving back toward her neck, giving her plenty of time to back out. Instead, she scooted closer again, hooking her hand over his hip. The backs of his fingers brushed along her neck again. She shivered, not as hard as last time. Still, it hooked deep into her like sudden high.

Then his thumb ran along the shell of her pointed ears and was completely blasted to Oblivion.

She surged forward and claimed his lips, heat surging through her limbs.

"How did you know that?" she asked breathlessly.

"Know what?" Alistair panted. "The sensitive ears?" She nodded and couldn't stop him as he did it again. She let out a long curse in her mother tongue and tried to even her breathing. "I have elves where I come from, remember?"

"That's not even fair. Is the neck thing common there too?"

"No. That one's all you." Instead of brushing his fingers along the spot, he lowered his lips to it. Her hand shot up and gripped his shoulder. "Maker's breath, Mal, you can't expect me to be a gentleman when you're moving like this."

_"You're_ the one that decided to take advantage of me and my ears," she shot back. She swallowed thickly and looked up at him.

_I might die tomorrow._ _ And I'll have to leave for Riften immediately if I don't. What if this is the last time I see him? What if they manage to send him back home while I'm away and can't say goodbye?_

"Malia?"

She blinked a few times, focusing in and reminding herself what was happening. Alistair was watching her, waiting. His cheeks were flushed and she could see his freckles stand out even more. She reached up and connected some of them with her finger.

"W-what kind of headway is being made on sending you home?" she stuttered awkwardly.

_Gods, at least pretend you've got a silver tongue,_ she chided herself.

Surprisingly, Alistair frowned deeply. She couldn't help but sit bolt upright and stare at him. "Wait, what happened, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!" He also sat up and then ran a hand through his hair. "It's just..." He glanced at her. "Happen to notice anything weird with the College?"

"You mean the giant, levitating, glowing orb in the Hall of Elements?"

"Yeah, the Eye..." He sighed. "We found it under Saarthal, but they keep saying it's not Nordic."

"It's not." He gave her a subtle side eye. "I grew up in a seaport village," she deadpanned. "I may not have had a state sanctioned education but when you're being taught by true world travelers?"

Alistair put his hands up in surrender and smirked. "Alright, I get it, you can read the times..."

She shook her head. "No, that's the point. I can't read them, but I can read Atmoran Nordic. And that is definitely not a Nordic kind of magic. It kind of feels like..." She shook her head. "Nevermind, but my point is it's definitely a find, but what does it have to do with sending you home."

"It's like you said, it's not a normal kind of magic-"

"I said 'Nordic' kind of magic."

"Mirabelle thinks we might be able to channel the energy it radiates into creating a doorway." He shrugged. "I'm clearly lacking in magical talent, so most of it goes over my head. That happens a lot. I just try to nod so it seems like I know what's going on."

"That's whatever I do whenever Delvin tries to tell me stories about the Guild's glory days," Malia scoffed. "Messing with an older-than-dirt kind of magic that could possibly have unpredictable consequences? Sounds like a wonderful afternoon."

"Here's the thing... I was sort of...visited? Psychically. By a member of the Psijic Order..."

"The Psijic Order? They...visited you?"

"Once, yeah, before we found the Eye of Magnus. They warned me about the future and told me they'd be watching."

"That's not creepy at all," Malia joked. "How did they even know about the Eye? The Order's thousands of miles away in Artaeum."

He shrugged. "Mages, I guess."

"The world's most powerful," she agreed. "So, you're caught in a magical mess, and I'm on a manhunt? We managed to stir up some trouble pretty quick."

"Ehh, that's kind of the story of my life," Alistair laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "There was always a crisis going on somewhere."

Malia looked at her feet. "Always feels like that, yeah." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "The Aldmeri Dominion has chased me my whole life. First driving my parents out of Valenwood, then invaded my home, _then_ even followed me all the way up here, tearing apart the Empire as they went..."

She blushed and looked up at Alistair. "Sorry! Gods, that was a little uncalled for."

"What, complaining about an aggressive world power conquering a continent?"

"Might be easier if the aggressive power was just a hoarde of tainted beings and ghouls like your Blights, right?"

Her heart dropped when Alistair just stared at her. Divines above, but that mellow sadness from before turned to grief right before her eyes as his face fell. He cleared his throat and got to his feet. "Um... Kika left his notebook here." he said curtly, snatching up something that looked very much _not_ like a notebook before striding right out of the room, leaving Malia alone and speechless.

_Did that really just happen?_

_Holy fuck, what did I just do?_

Her chest constricted and her mouth went bone dry. "Fuck..." Every time she though about Alistair's past, she couldn't help but assume that maybe he had lost someone. He had mentioned his mentor, Duncan, had died at the start of the Blight, but he talked of several of his friends who were still alive.

_A lover?_

She froze. "Of course..." she sighed in defeat. He had probably lost someone he loved to the Blight. Gods, but it had been staring her in the face the whole time. The hesitance to talk about the Blight, the rose on the pommel of his sword, the "comrade" he had mentioned with an air of depression.

_A story of star-crossed lovers destined to stop a force of ultimate evil and save the world from being swallowed by darkness? Topped off with a heroic death of his lover?_

_Right, like I'd ever be able to live up to that._

She got to her feet and slipped back into her boots and gear. She managed to find a spare quill and scratch out a quick note on a bit of parchment before sneaking out silently.

The howling wind and stinging cold was a welcome relief to the uncomfortable warmth she was enveloped in. Leaving had been a complete gut decision. She huffed angrily, picking up her pace to hurry back to the inn. For as good as she talked shop, she sure was horrible at confrontations. She was a thief, through and through; she never stuck around long enough for when things got messy.

_What the fuck are you doing, go back you moron!_

She shook her head, tromping her feet on the stairs to kick the snow off and entering the inn. "Better to probably forget anything happened," she muttered under her breath.

_I **had** to open my big mouth and bring up something that probably isn't such a bright spot in his past!_

The barmaid pointed out her room to her and she quickly shut herself in, rolling to the floor and pressing her palms to her eyes. She wished she could blame it on being young and inexperienced as far as elven lives went, but she still had nearly thirty years under her belt, with several more decades to come.

All the experience from her life couldn't possibly have prepared her to battle her own sheer stubbornness.

At times like these she would write Brynjolf, but theoretically they'd be on their way home tomorrow, so it wasn't exactly worth it. Instead she shed her jacket and curled up in bed with her astrolabe. Knowing the College mages, as soon as they figured out how to channel energy from that orb, it wouldn't be long before Alistair could go home, she was sure of it.

_Then what?_

She groaned and turned on her back, holding the astrolabe above her. She turned the dials randomly.

"You're supposed to bring me good luck, you know," she grumbled. "Daz gave me a faulty astrolabe." She shrugged. "Then again, you're an instrument of measurement, not a god of karma." She wished for a second she could talk to Ri'saad, one of her favorite caravan leaders of all time. He always had good advice, even if it was a bit abstract and heavy on the metaphors.

"Guess I didn't gain any cat wisdom even when I was practically raised by one..."

\---

Standing in the entry chamber of Snow Veil Sanctum, she felt strangely calm. Probably due to the silence and muted feeling of being underground. She straightened her bracers and double checked her throwing knives. Mercer was crouched above the rough layout of the tomb sketched on parchment. 

"I have no doubt she left a few dragur for us to deal with," he said, pointing to large rooms on the map. "Along with the assumption the most of them will be in these halls."

"Well, who better to sneak through a tomb than two professional sneak thieves?"

Malia listened carefully down the hall, not hearing anything suspicious...yet. She was definitely lacking in experience when it came to Nordic ruins, but she had gone on a few treasure hunts for a little extra gold in her pockets. They definitely had running themes, but the bigger the tomb, the bigger the trouble.

"Think Karliah reset some of the traps?" she pondered aloud.

"I'm thinking closer to _all_ of them," Mercer growled, standing up and brushing off his hands.

"Great."

Mercer took point and Malia followed in sync. Their footsteps were quieter than a mouse's, and they managed to spot most of the the traps and leftover dragur before they became problems. Malia's foot slipped once and triggered a pressure plate, but she flattened herself against the wall and out of the way before a stone ram dropped from the ceiling above her. She chuckled nervously and took a deep breath.

"How close was that to hitting me?" she murmured.

"You don't want to know. Be glad you're fast on your feet."

She winked and clicked her tongue. "Smuggler's feet. And no small amount of luck."

The further they went, the less dragur there were. That caught Malia off guard. She would have figured Karliah would have thickened her defenses the closer they got to her. She _was_ only planning to kill them, right?

Her ears twitched as she spared some concentration to think a little. Why go through all the trouble of buying Goldenglow estate, working with a valuable fence close to the Thieves Guild, and then staging an almost poetic climax in the same place she killed Gallus? She agreed that Mercer would be a hard man to get, but surely there were easier ways to try and kill him that also took less than twenty-five years to mull over. Something wasn't making sense, but she couldn't figure Karliah's thinking process. The only people alive who had known her were Mercer and Delvin. Malia had just been a smuggler's apprentice. Brynjolf had just been a street urchin all those years ago.

They came to the Hall of Stories. It was littered with ancient corpses and covered in a thick layer of cobwebs. The carvings on the wall were surprisingly well preserved. There was a torch on the ground in front of the closed chamber door, but absolutely no sign of a claw key. The first and second circles were hawks, and the smallest one was a snake. Divines only knew what kind of combination would unlock it.

"Dammit," Mercer grumbled. "This might take a while. The old nords might have kept things simple, but their puzzle doors are something else."

"Is it even possible to pick it without the claw?"

"Takes a while, but I've done it before."

At the sound of time to kill, Malia wandered around the hall while Mercer worked on the puzzle lock. The corpses had definitely been dragur, and they had _definitely _been killed by Karliah. She heard a pick break followed by a curt swear and fought not to snicker. It wasn't exactly the time to joke around, and it wasn't like _she_ could unlock it. She was good, but not Mercer Frey levels of good. He had perfected the art of thievery years before she had even been born.

"Ha!" Mercer straightened up stiffly as the dials turned to one common sigil and began the slow, shifting descent into the floor.

"Neat trick," Malia noted, peeking into the room from behind the wall. "This the main chamber?" He nodded. She couldn't see anyone, couldn't even hear anything aside from her own steady heartbeat and breathing. She drew her swords slowly and kept them at her sides, taking a deep breath.

There was a sarcophagus to the left that she could jump behind, perhaps provoke Karliah into giving away her position to Mercer. If anything, she needed to get an eye on her.

However the second she moved out of cover, an arrow grazed across her cheek, slashing through the shell of her ear as well. She helped, then almost pissed herself when Mercer put one hand on her shoulder and the other on her side. Just as she expected him to shove her to the floor to get back behind cover, he instead gripped her painfully and moved her suddenly. Another arrow buried itself in her chest, opposite of where her heart was.

Air evaded her. Air and the habit of breathing. She couldn't make herself do anything, aside from ignoring how carelessly she dropped her swords. The harsh clanging of metal against stone echoed in the large chamber, almost dragging her further away from herself.

_I was just used as a fucking body shield..._

Speaking of, Mercer shoved her to the ground to draw his sword. She tried to move her hands under her to catch her fall, but all she could manage was falling on her side. Pain snapped at her nerves like a whip, knocking what little air she had out of her. She gasped hoarsely, something warm spreading across her skin. She scooted up against the sarcophagus, barely managing to sit up.

_Paralysis poison._

"N-no-!" she choked out. Furious heat then raced through her blood, blinding her vision with tears. _Blood of my ancestors..._

"Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?"

"Give me a reason to try."

The heat in her blood turned frigid at the sound of Karliah's smooth, somber voice. A voice dripping with pure hatred.

"You're a clever woman, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired."

"'To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies.' It was the first lesson Gallus taught us."

"You always were a quick study."

"Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive."

Malia felt sick. Like she was about to vomit sewage. _Karliah...couldn't save Gallus?_

"Really, Karliah, after all these years? And all these theatrics? Truly a Nightingale, aren't you?"

_Nightingales?_

"Nocturnal would not be as kind a judge as I, and believe me, I'm sure she's excited to see you again someday."

"Someday? Going to run, waste this chance to finally avenge Gallus?"

"That arrow in her chest was meant for you. I'm not fool enough to challenge you alone. But I'll see you again."

Silence followed the muted jolt in the air of magic being used. Malia wheezed quietly as breathing started to become harder and harder. The arrow in her chest was starting to burn like a hot iron, but she couldn't even move a hand to try and get it out. In fact, she couldn't move anything at all.

_That's one damn strong paralysis poison, Karliah,_ she wanted to say. Other than the fact she _couldn't_ talk, blood was pooling in her mouth and running down her neck. Heavy footsteps approached her, but she couldn't look up. Not that she really wanted to look in the face of her murderer.

_I'm really going to die, aren't I? _

She wheezed again as Mercer started talking. She knew without a doubt he was about to kill her. She had just been _literally paralyzed _by the fact that Mercer had killed Gallus, and not Karliah. She had tried to save him. Or _would_ have saved him, at least.

Her mind ran though the "could haves", but she was completely floored by the recurring thought that she was about to have the opportunity of a lifetime (or a death time?).

She was going to see her dad again. And meet her mother for the first time.

And then, like a slap to the face, Mercer said one last thing.

"Brynjolf would have believed you over me, I think."


	10. One Last Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interests of two factions align for a brief moment.

_Duty calls. Please be careful._

Alistair stared at the worn piece of parchment in his hand. The dorms were almost empty. Everyone else was at their classes or in the library. The Eye of Magnus stole all attention of the mages, which he was entirely fine with. He needed some quiet.

He would kick himself square in the arse for how he had reacted. She made a harmless joke, and his first move was to lie and run to Kika's room for a minute to think? She was gone when he finally found the nerve to go back, leaving him with five scratchy words and the weight of his guilt. He could wish all he want for an idea of what she was thinking, but he would probably have a better chance of making it back to Thedas without the help of the College.

And now she was gone, with no indication that she would be back anytime soon. Two days had already passed with no word, and his heart dropped a little further with every hour that passed in silence.

He was being a royal arse, and he knew it. He had every intention to find a way back home, but he kept turning his back on it and reaching out toward Malia. She was accidentally anchoring him to Tamriel.

It was all the little things. Her cheeky little smirk when she saw something that amused her. The near silent way she moved from her years as a smuggler and a thief. The way her hair moved in the wind when she rode Sasha and how it smelled subtly of rain and wildflowers. He could make a sizable list of the things he didn't want to give up, and Malia and her mannerisms was at the tippy top.

He wandered out of the Hall of Attainment. Maybe a walk could clear his thoughts a little and bring some answers to questions he hadn't even taken the time to ask yet. The blizzard had thankfully passed and the mages had already cleared the courtyard of snow. As he was about to open the door to the Hall of Elements and make his way up to the library, the handle was jerked out of his grasp by someone exiting.

"Talos' blood, Alistair, you scared the pee outta me!" Lilith yelped. She grinned at him. "If you wanna see some action, I'm afraid you're outta luck."

"What do you mean?"

Lilith shrugged, her grin faltering. "Tofdir found the golden bastard messing with the Eye, so nobody's allowed near it for now."

"Golden bastard?"

"Ancano, the _advisor_ from the Thalmor," she grumbled. "Stuck up pompous prick..."

"Have something against elves?"

"Divines, no. I have a problem with the Aldmeri Dominion."

"You're not the only one," Alistair lamented. "What did they do to you?"

She shook her head and smirked blandly. "What haven't they done? They tossed around the Empire like a ragdoll and now they're sticking their nose where it doesn't belong." She looked at him and blushed. "Sorry, that was uncalled for."

A lump formed in his throat. Malia had said something along those lines after her own tiny outburst. "What, complaining about am aggressive world power conquering a continent?" he echoed himself. 

"Don't forget about the attempts made to wipe out native cultures as they go. Can't worship Talos, my ass..." She shrugged. Our ancestors didn't even come from the same continents, but what are the nords supposed to do, go back to Atmora? It's a block of ice sitting in a freezing sea. I may have the blood of old Atmora, but I'm afraid it's taken a liking to the nice springs Skyrim has."

"Nice meaning rain, mud, and it's cold all the time?"

Lilith burst into giggles. "Oh, so you've experienced it before?"

He grinned. "Sounds like the nights I spent with the hounds when I was a kid."

Lilith gave him a look he couldn't figure. It was there and gone like lightning, and he couldn't help the heat that shot right to his ears. Before he could think of something else to say, the doors to the Hall of the Elements opened again, revealing the "golden bastard" himself. Lilith's eyes turned cold as the ice when she saw him.

Ancano approached him, a simmering look on his face, like someone had just insulted him. "I need you to come with me immediately. Let's go."

"He's not going anywhere without an explanation," Lilith snapped. Ancano glared at her. Although she was over a foot shorter and had softer features than the elf, she still managed to stand her ground against him. She looked intimidating, even if she had to look up to look him in the eye.

"This is none of your concern, girl," he said curtly.

"Consider me a nosy apprentice then," she countered, taking a step forward.

Ancano glared at her another few moments before he raised his chin up a fraction. "If you _must_ know, Arch-Mage Aren wishes to speak with him."

Alistair nudged his shoulder against Lilith's. Her face softened when she looked at him. "It's okay," he said, he lowered his voice and added, "Besides, look at him. He's a string bean." She smirked. "Alright, let's go." He didn't wait, and strode past the altmer, trying not to smirk when he heard Lilith try and muffle laughter behind a poorly faked cough.

The stairs to the Arch-Mage's quarters were ones he had ascended many times. He might not understand most of what Aren and Mirabelle talk about, but he kept himself calm by listening to them, hearing the theories on how to send him home. When he opened the door and entered, he immediately recognized Arch-Mage Aren, but there was a stranger standing there as well. A stranger wearing the same robes as the Psijic Order mage had been wearing. Remembering Ancano was behind him, he fought to keep his surprise unnoticed.

The Psijic mage looked up at him. It wasn't the man that had talked to him before. "Please, do not be alarmed," he said. "I mean no harm." A frigid wave of magic surged through the room, almost coating it in a blue and silver tinge. When he exhaled, his breath fogged in the air. He looked at the Arch-Mage for an explanation, but the man didn't seem to notice. "It is good to meet you in person," the Psijic mage said.

Alistair took a step back and put a hand on his sword. "What the hell did you do?" he asked calmly. "What do you want with me?"

The mage put his hands up. "I merely wish to talk to you," he insisted. He gestured around them. "I've given us a chance to speak privately, but it won't hold forever, so we must be brief. The situation here at the College of Winterhold is of dire importance, and attempts to contact you as we have previously have failed."

"We believe it is due to the very source of our concern. This object...the Eye of Magnus as your people have taken to calling it. The energy coming from it has prevented us from communicating with you. Make no mistake, the longer it remains here, the more dangerous it becomes. And so I have come here personally to tell you it must be dealt with."

Alistair frowned, but released his sword. "I don't know much about your Order, but why can't you deal with this if you're so concerned? I'm not even a mage! Why me?"

The man looked almost apologetic. "You have to understand, the Psijic order does not typically..." He seemed to fight for the right words. _"Intervene. _While we may be highly attuned to our magical abilities, we choose to allow the world to carry on without out interference."

"But you're here now," Alistair pointed out.

"My presence here was not wholly agreed on, mind you. As soon as we are done here, I will be leaving. My being here will stir up trouble if I remain, and your Thalmor associate is highly suspicious already."

"He's really not even an associate to me. Maybe a thorn in my foot?" He shook his head and folded his arms across his chest, trying to keep up. "So, what exactly is the big deal about the Eye?"

"As you've probably guessed, the object here is immensely powerful. The world is not prepared to handle it. If it remains here, it will be misused."

Alistair instinctively looked behind him at Ancano, frozen mid-step. Over the years as Warden-Constable, he had dealt with a lot of people, and he knew a rat when he saw one. It felt a little presumptuous, but he would rather be safe than sorry any day of the week.

"I told you, I'm not a mage," Alistair reminded the man. "This is a little above me."

The man smirked and gave Alistair a piercing look. "Those words sounded well used. Perhaps you believe your will to be less than that of others, but I would hope that the fact that I am here talking to you and you alone would defy that thought. Ysgramor was not a mage, yet he led his Five Hundred Companions to avenge the Night of Tears."

"I don't think he had to deal with a massive orb of uncontrollable magical energy."

"Then why was it buried beneath Saarthal?"

Despite the attempts, he still wasn't sure. He had faced a lot, but he hadn't escaped from it all alone. He had always had someone leading the charge, and he had been there to watch their back. He wasn't comfortable with leading.

_The Inquisitor isn't a mage, _he reminded himself, remembering how Adaar had easily lifted him off of the ground as if he weighed as much as a kitten. _Kian wasn't a mage. Or Hawke. Or Zevran, or Leliana, or Cullen, or-Varric-Bull-Cassandra- _

"I get it!" he snapped at himself, ignoring the strange look from the mage. "Yeah, okay, I suppose I could think of something...maybe drop it in the ocean or something."

"An admirable thought, though I have no doubt it will require _slightly_ more effort than that." He looked to his right as if someone had called his name. "I'm afraid I must leave you for now. The Order will continue to guide you as best we can."

"It is within you to succeed," he declared. "Never forget that. And good luck."

Barely a second after he had finished talking, the magic retracted swiftly, almost pulling at Alistair's mind as it faded to nothing. The world resumed. As far as the Arch-Mage and Ancano knew, there had never been a conversation about the Eye of Magnus.

"I'm sorry, were you about to say something?" the Arch-Mage asked.

"Forgive me, but I'm afraid there must be some mistake," he cut in, giving a polite bow to the man. "I apologize for the inconvenience I may have caused you." Just like that, he brushed past Aren and Ancano, the latter's face twisting into fury.

_Uh-oh._

"And I have to, uh.." Alistair fought to come up with an excuse. "Promised Kika I'd be his subject in a coming experiment! Yeah, important stuff, you know?" He saw an opening in the confusion on their faces and he started backing toward the stairs. "And I've got a-a friend in town, so I gotta...go. I gotta go."

"Smooth, Theirin," he grumbled once the doors were shut behind him. He didn't have much time to ponder on his stumbling. He needed to think of a way to...to...

To what? He stopped in his tracks on the last step, his thoughts coming to a screeching halt.

_How the hell am **I** supposed to solve this?_ He ran a hand through his hair. The Arch-Mage! Aren would know what to do, but he couldn't go back up, so he continued down to the Hall of the Elements.

"Hey, you're still alive." Lilith pushed off from the wall she had been leaning against and looked him over. "And unharmed. What, Ancano didn't feel like wasting energy on you?" She grinned, but her face fell when she kept looking at him. "By the Nine, Alistair, what happened? You look..."

"Terrified?" he suggested, certainly feeling that way.

"Horrified," she corrected. She grabbed his hand. "C'mon, you can let it out in the dorms." He couldn't find it in himself to protest as they crossed the courtyard to the Hall of Attainment. She pulled him past his room and up the stairs to the second floor to her room.

"Your room?" he blurted out, his cheeks heating.

Lilith smacked him on the arm. "Fucking hell, Alistair, we're not purpling or anything."

"Purpling?"

"Would you rather I say fucking?"

"Maker's balls, Lilith!" She burst out laughing and pulled him in, closing the door behind her. He still undid his sword belt and propped it against the wardrobe, all but collapsing into a chair.

"Sorry, that was a little crass," she giggled, sitting on the edge of her bed and crossing her ankles. "Alistair, you're really handsome and funny and muscular, but you're not my type."

The words broke through the slight barrier, making him scoff at her. "I'm not your type? I'll have you know I was the prize winning Warden at the Vigil three years in a row!" Now they were both laughing, the tension melting away.

"It's not you I promise!" She put a hand on her midsection. "Holy shit, that was funny." She ran her hands through her hair. "And I'm glad you're also laughing, especially after whatever traumatizing incident happened to you."

He took a deep breath and started to tell her everything. And he meant _everything._ Including his accidental appearance in Tamriel. He could tell she was a little overwhelmed, especially by the way she was drumming her fingers on her knees, but it was so easy to just let the words flow. Five minutes or five hours could have passed and he wouldn't have known better, but Lilith listened to it all, even asking an occasional question.

"You were only up there for, like, less than five minutes," she joked breathlessly at the end. She blew out her cheeks and chuckled nervously. "Talos' blood, that's a lot..." She leaned forward on her knees, taking a deep breath.

"Sorry, I know it's a lot, but..." He sighed. "It was easy to just _tell_ you."

"Oh, no-no-no, don't get me wrong, I'm flattered and glad that you're trusting me enough to tell me the whole story-" She waved her hands and took a deep breath. "Blood of Atmora, that's a lot, holy shit, but that makes so much sense, like Syn was telling me that _no__body_ knew why you were here at the College, not even some of the instructors, but now that I know you're from another fucking _world-!"_

"Lilith!" he cut in sharply. "Deep breaths."

"All the exciting things happen in the other schools of magic!" she protested suddenly, getting to her feet to pace. "I mean, I love Restoration and being a healer, but Conjuration students get to experiment with atronachs and Destruction students get to blow things up and fling lightning-!"

"Lilith..."

"I know, I know, I'm rambling!" she almost shouted, stopping in her tracks. "Sorry, I'm trying to keep calm. This is way too much for a simple healer." She laughed at herself. "But I know who we can go to for advise on this kind of shit."

"Besides the Arch-Mage?" Alistair questioned, a little worn out after so much had happened.

"Definitely." She grinned. "Now, I know this sounds questionable, but we need to talk to the Augur of Dunlain."

"The what of who-now?"

"The Augur of Dunlain," she repeated. "He lives beneath the College, away from the other mages. He was a student here, once upon a time, but an experiment went wrong, and he kind of..." She bit at her bottom lip. "Okay, I said the School of Restoration never sees any fun, but I kind of lied. The Augur was a Res student. From what Tofdir's told me, he was trying to evade death, give him the lifespan of an elf, at least, and possibly move on to immortality."

Alistair froze. "Wait...what did you say?"

"He was a Res student?" Lilith suggested. He shook his head and she said, "Evading death?"

"No, that bit about elves."

"Elven lifespans? Oh, that's right! Different world! Ha!" She took a moment to laugh about her stumbling. "Elves here live a few centuries, so that's why most of them sound all wizened and shit." There was a knock at the door and Lilith cursed loudly as she threw it open. "What?! Oh, fuck!" She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, laughing. She swung it all the way open, revealing Master Wizard Mirabelle. "I'm so sorry, Mira. I, uh..." She glanced back at Alistair.

"He told you?" she guessed, not sounding surprised at all.

"Most of it, yeah..."

Mirabelle nodded once. "Then it seems I've made the right choice of trusting you. I need you to follow me to the town. There is someone there in need of a proper healer, and I must stress the importance of discretion."

Lilith chuckled. "You know me, I'm more interested in the process than the person being put back together. Now?"

"Yes, please, if you will." Lilith looked at Alistair. He could see the mental battle raging in her head. On the one hand, he had just dropped a lot of information on her that would take time to process. On the other, she was needed in Winterhold, and was asked to help by the Master Wizard herself.

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "I'll just wait for you to get back."

"Talk to Tofdir," she suggested. "He can tell you more about who you need to find. She hurried around the room and grabbed her gear, Mirabelle visibly anxious to hurry back. It made Alistair wonder how injured the person in trouble was. Lilith ducked down real quick and pecked a kiss on his cheek. "Be safe, okay? And make sure Ancano stays far, _far _away from everything."

"I'll try."

\---

"Hold _still,_ Malia!" Mirabelle advised as her magic seemed to poke and prod her insides.

"Well, it _fucking hurts,"_ she growled, gripping the headboard above her. Karliah was stronger than she would have figured, holding her down like a horse was on her legs. "Azura's bloody tits, what the fuck kind of poison did you hit me with?"

"One that took twenty-five years to perfect," Karliah grumbled, shooting her a look. "There was only enough for the one shot. I didn't predict how easily Mercer would betray you as well."

"That makes two of us-!" She cursed loudly and dug her nails in the wood. "Fuck, Mirabelle, easy on the internal damage."

"Oh hush, you're fine," she snapped like the teacher she was. "Restoration wasn't my area of study when I was a student."

"You don't say?" Malia panted, a heated sweat breaking out everywhere.

"I didn't intend to keep Mercer alive for long," the dunmer chimed in again. "Just enough to finally bring truth to the Guild."

Malia took a hand away from the headboard to tap the thin mattress beneath her. "Break time. Please...I need a minute here." Mirabelle's magic retracted and Karliah stepped back. "So it's killing me?"

Karliah crossed her arms and gave her a somber look. "I didn't bother finding a potion to counteract it's effects. It depends on the person's constitution. You might have lasted a day or two without help before you died."

"Die how?"

"The poison first paralyzed you, and now that it's worn off, it will continue to cycle through your bloodstream until it slows your heart to a stop."

"Painfully?"

"No. The suffering would have come...after."

The pulsing heat from the wound on her right side drew Malia's attention away for a second, and she had to resist the temptation to press her hand there to try and make it to away. Karliah went around the bed to talk to Mirabelle in hushed tones. She was _not_ looking forward to paying for a new mattress for the inn, especially since Mercer had robbed her before leaving her to die. Luckily, he had only taken her gold. Her gold and her dignity.

"I need someone who specializes in Restoration," Mirabelle was saying. "I know you said keep this to myself, but I can't guarantee I'll get the poison out."

"Do you know of anyone who's trustworthy?" Karliah asked.

Mirabelle tucked her hair behind her ear. "She's the best we have, and I believe she wouldn't cause any trouble. I trust her."

Malia coughed into her fist. Spots of blood stood out on her skin, and she held it up to show the other women. "Good, cause it looks like we're gonna need her." She held her index finger up. "Can you do me an effortless favor and _not _tell Alistair."

Mirabelle gave her a slightly startled look because of the blood, but nodded nonetheless. "I-I'll go get her immediately."

"Good idea," Karliah muttered. Mirabelle left in a flash, leaving the two thieves alone again. Last time, Malia had been unconscious, but now, fully conscious and very aware she was shirtless, she was feeling every awkward second if it. Not like there was much she could do about it anyway. She sat up and grabbed a fresh pad of gauze, pressing it to her side as a temporary bandage.

"How did you know who I was?" she asked, trying to break some tension. "You said my name before I even told you. I was still a kid when you were in the Guild."

"I kept my ears tuned to the business of the Guild every so often," Karliah said, sitting down in the chair. "I needed to know if they were ever to send a cutthroat after me."

"Something tells me he would have taken an arrow to the chest," Malia murmured under her breath, absentmindedly rubbing at the tightly sealed bandage that wrapped around her chest.

"It wasn't until I learned your name that I realized you were the same girl that had once been a smuggler."

Malia's jaw almost dropped. "You know _that_ much about me?"

She only shrugged. "It wasn't as if I was watching you. I was simply monitoring the goings-ons of the Guild. You were a part of that long before you were given the uniform." She paused and glanced at her. "Is Dro'Vasdar well? I haven't seen him for a few decades."

"He's..." Malia shook her head and bubbled with laughter. "He's good. Just finished a job in Solstheim. Glover's still up there, too."

"I always liked Glover more. _He_ doesn't cheat at cards."

Malia laughed again, floored by the very fact that a week ago she would have put a sword through Karliah's heart, and now they were having a civil conversation about the Guild they were both adamant about protecting. She carefully laid down again, keeping the gauze on her side. Every inch of her hurt in some way or another, but she wasn't exactly a stranger to pain. She had been in plenty of scraps and tricky jobs.

"So...you didn't kill Gallus? Mercer did?"

Karliah's violet eyes locking with her own almost made her backpedal as fast as she could, but there wasn't anger behind them. She knew that look, knew the feeling behind it. 

Grief.

"No," she started curtly. "But to understand, you must first hear the whole truth."

She went over to her saddlebags and reached in, pulling out what looked like a weathered journal. The leather was ruined, but the pages seemed mostly intact. There was a sigil stained into the front of it.

"The Nightingale sigil," Malia blurted out. "So they were real?"

"They still are," Karliah said quietly. "Though, only one member remains." She offered the journal to Malia, holding the gauze down gently as she paged through it. She didn't recognize the handwriting, but she _could_ read the language it was written in.

"Why is it written in Ta'agra?" she wondered aloud.

Karliah hesitated, her eyes widening. "You can read it?"

"Didn't you already know I was raised in Elsweyr? And raised by a cat?"

The Nightingale rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched, giving Malia a good feeling. "I knew it was Ta'agra, but I can't read it. Guess it was pure luck Mercer brought you to snow Veil Sanctum." 

"Bad luck on my part," she grumbled, turning to the cover page. The name was written in Common, and it sent a chill down her spine. _Gallus Desidenius. _"This was Gallus'?" Karliah nodded. Flipping through again, she saw the pages were suddenly blank towards the end. She found the last entry and read the last paragraph to herself.

_Mercer Frey has requested I meet him at Snow Veil Sanctum today. He sent a note by courier, so I can only assume he's already there. All my senses tell me it's a trap, but I have no choice. His message indicated the meeting was of the utmost urgency, and involved Guild business, so I'm obligated to go. I can't risk bringing anyone else with me, but I'm almost certain Karliah will disobey and follow._

"You _did_ try and save him," she mumbled. "And Mercer played the whole Guild. Everyone." She ignored the pain and sat up, getting to her feet.

"Malia-"

She waved her off with a hand, growling as her head throbbed. "Everyone!" she repeated louder. "Gallus, you, me, Bryn, Delvin, Vex-!" She leaned against the wardrobe to catch her breath. Her chest felt like it was being squeezed slowly. "And we never fucking saw it? Ever?" She whirled around at Karliah. "All these years of dragging through the gutters? The bad luck and botched jobs? Was that Mercer?"

"In a sense, yes," Karliah confirmed. "Nobody knew because the Nightingales are kept a secret from the rest of the Thieves Guild. Three thieves are chosen to be servants to the Twilight Sepulcher to maintain our connection to Nocturnal, the patron Prince of all thieves. Gallus, Mercer, and myself were chosen over twenty-five years ago to be such servants."

"What the hell is the Twilight Sepulcher?"

"A temple dedicated to Nocturnal, and the hidden location of a physical portal to her plane of Obliviom, the Evergloam. It is also home to the Skeleton Key, which is what opens the portal in the first place. Mercer stole the Key and murdered Gallus when he had been discovered."

Malia frowned. "Why would Mercer want to steal the Key in the first place?"

"The Skeleton Key is Nocturnal's most powerful artifact. It can open any lock and cannot be destroyed by any normal means"

Malia felt her face pale more than it already had been. "The vault..."

Karliah's jaw clenched. "Exactly. The Twilight Sepulcher has been abandoned for too long, and it's time to return the Key and regain Nocturnal's favor." Malia opened her mouth to respond, but a sticky warmth soaking into her breeches stole her attention. She looked down at her side and groaned quietly. She was bleeding again. "Here, sit down and let me look."

She did as she was told, sitting down and stretching as much as she could so Karliah had a good view of the perfect slice across her ribs. The older elf dabbed at it with a clean pad of bandages. Malia grit her teeth, trying her very best not to move.

"Had I known you would be willing to help me, much less believe me I'm the first place, I might not have shot you."

Malia snickered, her side protesting painfully. _"Might_ not have," she echoed. "Well, to be fair, I hadn't the faintest idea any of this was going on, so I'd say I deserved the arrow." She glanced down. "The betrayal on the other hand? Totally uncalled for."

"Trust me, it _looked_ worse than you're thinking," Karliah said darkly. "Mercer betrayed Gallus, yes, but at least Gallus died honorably. You were incapacitated."

"See? Uncalled for." She waved her hand. "Doesn't matter now. Mercer's probably slandering my name as we speak." She froze, remembering something through the haze of the poison. "There was something Mercer said to me right before I passed out. That Brynjolf would believe me over him."

She looked at Karliah. "I have a bad idea," she said, grinning.

"Better than my lack of one, I'm sure."

"As far as Mercer knows, I'm dead and rotting in Snow Veil Sanctum. However the Guild believes I died doesn't matter. What does is that my reputation has some weight to it, and I don't think some of the Guild's connections will respond well to hearing I was betrayed and murdered."

Karliah's eyes gleamed with that telltale thief's twinkle. "The caravans?"

Malia snapped and smirked. "The caravans," she confirmed. "I contact Vas, he gets in touch with Brynjolf, and we pretty much lock down the borders of Skyrim for one man. He'll have nowhere to go once we go after him, but we're not chasing him. We're trapping him."

"You're in no condition to go on a manhunt," Karliah argued. "Even when that healer comes to fix you, you shouldn't travel right away."

Malia gave her a look. She grinned almost deviously. "Did you somehow forget the part where he lied to me for years, decieved the Guild, dragged out fucking reputation through the dirt, them used me as a fucking body shield and tried to kill me on the way out?" She barked out a laugh. "I don't care if it fucking kills me. Nobody messes with my family. Mercer's about to know what it's like to be hunted."

Karliah kept tending to Malia's wound. "Wish I had your kind of motivation twenty-five years ago," she said quietly, almost to herself.

Malia chose not to continue the conversation. She just closed her eyes and tried to ignore how utterly fucking stretched thin she was becoming. On top of being sleep deprived, she was wounded, poisoned, and about to jump right back on the horse and go the distance. She couldn't remember the last time she ate something, either.

She had this stabbing feeling of fear, as well. She was scared that something would happen to one of the other Guild members. Especially Brynjolf. She didn't know what she would do if she lost him. Aside from Vas and Daz, he was the only family she had left.

There was a knock at the door, and they both stared at it for a second.

"It's Mirabelle," a voice called from the other side.

Malia took the gauze from Karliah so she could get the door. Sure enough, Mirabelle stepped in with another young woman in tow. She was a petite nord with pure blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her robes and sigil marked her as an adept in Restoration. She watched as the woman immediately took in the severity of the situation from the bloodied supplies and weakened look to Malia herself.

"This is Lilith," Mirabelle introduced. "She's the best healer the College has."

Malia waved. "Malia. I'd shake your hand but mine's kinda bloody."

"I need to attend to a class, so I'll leave you three to it." The Master Wizard left as swiftly as she had arrived.

Lilith didn't even bother finishing up introductions. She pushed up her sleeves and put her bag on the edge of the bed, digging through. She set aside one health and one magicka potion. Then her hands held a warm glow and she pressed them to the wound. Malia but her lip, surprised it tickled instead of hurt.

Then Lilith frowned. "Mirabelle mentioned poison?"

"One of a kind, yes," Karliah confirmed. "The paralysis gives way to lethality."

Lilith made a face that made Malia almost break down laughing. "Yeah, that'll make the mess I'm feeling. It's all over the damn place." She looked up at Malia. "You're lucky to be conscious, that's for sure."

"So, am I making it out of Winterhold alive?" Malia asked, not wanting to beat around the bush.

"With me healing you?" Lilith made a quiet sound. "I can clean your blood by the morning after next." She glanced up again and jerked her chin at the bandages covering Malia's chest. "That'll take another day."

"Three days?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Do it," Karliah cut in again. "That will give me plenty of time to get the word out to Vas that we'll need some help to snag Mercer."

Malia pointed over to her ruined armor. "There's an astrolabe in a hidden pocket. Take it. He knows what it is to me. I'll translate Gallus' journal as well, if you'll let me."

Karliah looked slightly surprised she had asked permission, but she nodded and set it aside. She tucked the astrolabe in her saddlebag.

"Just...make sure you bring it back, okay?" Malia eyed the bags for a second. "It's one of the only things I have left of home."

"I'll bring it back safely. I promise."

"Ouch!"

"Sorry, that was my fault," Lilith mumbled. "You've got extraordinary musculoskeletal system, by the way."

"Um, thanks?" Malia could feel a heat rise to her cheeks from suddenly being under so much attention. She had never even heard of a musculoskeletal...thingy. She blinked away her confusion and held her hand out to Karliah. "Good luck, Nightingale."

She stared at her for a second, but finally relented and granted her that thief's smirk she had been fishing for. She grasped Malia's hand. "You too. Try not to get killed way out here."

"In this frozen shithole?" She scoffed. "Not a chance in hell."

Soon they were left alone, Malia trying her best to be a good patient to the woman. It wasn't hard, considering she hardly felt a thing except the strange sensation of her body being magically stitched back together. A few pinches here or there, but she sighed gratefully when Lilith hand-stitched the rest and applied fresh bandages.

"You should rest while you can," she suggested, washing her hands in the basin. "And let me know if you feel any pain."

"Will do. Thank you again. I'd pay you, but I got robbed when I ended up like this."

Lilith went over to her bag and pulled out a book, sitting in the chair and opening to a folded page. "I'll put it on your tab," she said with a grin.

_She's a really good healer,_ she thought to herself, watching the mage page through her book, muttering quietly to herself. She looked young too, which impressed her even more. Healers that made their magic feel like getting slightly tickled were rarer than an altmer Stormcloak.

"How long have you studied at the College?" she found herself asking as she lounged on the bed, dutifully resting.

Lilith looked up, looking slightly caught off guard. "Um..." She blew out her cheeks. "By the Nine, has it really been ten years?" She chuckled to herself. "I'm one of the youngest mages the College has ever housed."

"No shit?" Malia grinned. "Doesn't surprise me. Your healing skills are something else."

"Thanks." She crossed her legs and closed her book. She nibbled on her bottom lip, glancing at Malia. "So...I know I'm not really supposed to ask questions, but...I'm guessing someone stabbed you in the back." She eyed the wounds again. "Or in the side? And the chest?"

Malia snickered quietly. "Something like that, yeah," she sighed, closing her eyes and feeling the pull to get some more rest. "Just a good old fashioned trap turned sideways." She wrapped her left arm around so her hand could protectively cover her wound.

Lilith gasped quietly. "Oh shit, you're the woman Alistair was talking about."

"Fucking hell." She rubbed at her brow with her free hand. "Yeah, figures you would know him. Knew I wouldn't get away with leaving him like that."

"Leaving him? You left?" She uncrossed her legs and sat up. "He said you'd come back."

"No, I mean, yes, I was planning on coming back to help him get home, but I mean-" Malia cut herself off to take a breath. "I came to visit a few days ago. Before all this. And I left. Suddenly." To her surprise, Lilith _grinned._

"You ran off?" she clarified, raising an eyebrow. Malia nodded, her ears heating. "Relax, he's a big boy, he understands. I mean, I don't know what happened, but he's not angry." Then she frowned. "He doesn't know you're here, does he?"

She shook her head. "No. He probably thinks I'm on my way back to Riften." She rubbed gently above the spot where her bandages wrapped around her. "He shouldn't sorry about this. It's my mess, anyway."

"Suit yourself. Just know that he would fall on his sword for you if you asked him to."

Malia sighed. "I know. That's what I'm afraid of."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That musculoskeletal admiration really had Malia's gaydar pinging 👁️👄👁️


End file.
